


Anything to Make You Happy

by maycollins



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety, Cuddling, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gratuitous Hair Stroking, Grief/Mourning, Larry and Cynthia aren't bad people, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, just bad parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maycollins/pseuds/maycollins
Summary: Connor Murphy and Evan Hansen have existed in the same orbit since they were six years old, and after a few close calls along the way, they’re finally about to collide.It's Connor and Evan's first day of college, and like some cosmic joke, they’re roommates. This could be a disaster. Or it could be the best thing that ever happened to these two boys.
Relationships: Connor Murphy/Miguel (past), Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was never meant to exist. It just popped into my head and refused to leave, and now, here it is. I've taken a lot of my Connor characterization from the novelization, which I would highly recommend for fans of the musical.
> 
> Obviously, Dear Evan Hansen deals with a lot of heavy themes, and this fic will as well, so assume all trigger warnings for Dear Evan Hansen also apply here. In later chapters, this fic will also deal heavily with grief/loss (not of a main character), so if that's not your thing, this fic probably isn't for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in this chapter for panic attacks, talk of suicidal ideation, drug use that's not condemned, fainting, character not eating (not an eating disorder, but might still be triggering)

There’s a girl in his room.

More specifically, there’s a Zoe Murphy in his room.

Evan tries to school his expression into something cooler than the sweaty alarm he’s pretty sure it’s displaying openly.

“Am I - in the right place?” He asks, and it comes out breathless, not because of Zoe Murphy, he tells himself, but because of the flights of stairs and the heavy box in his arms and the lack of air conditioning.

“Evan?” she asks. She knows his name. “Are you Connor’s roommate.”

It all clicks very suddenly and very terribly into place. This is bad. Evan has not spoken to Connor Murphy since he took Evan’s therapy assignment in the computer lab the first day of school last year. Evan had waited weeks, expecting him to post it somewhere or share it with someone, to humiliate him, but he never had, and Evan had been too afraid to ask.

And now they’re about to spend a year living together. 

This must be some cosmic joke.

“I guess so.” His voice cracks a little in the middle.

“I’m so sorry,” she responds, and Evan can’t tell if she’s joking.

Then with far more commotion than Evan would prefer, the small dorm room begins to fill. First his mom joins them, pushing along a cart filled with all the rest of Evan’s stuff. He thinks that’s a little sad - his whole life fits into one rolling cart and a cardboard box.

Then it’s a man and a woman who must be Mr. and Mrs. Murphy. They look fancy, dressed up, unlike Evan’s mom who’s in faded jeans and a t-shirt from the science museum. Connor’s the last one to enter, dropping a crate onto the floor much louder than Evan thinks is strictly necessary.

“So you came along just to watch _us_ move all my stuff?” Connor asks, glaring at Zoe.

She shrugs, smirks, that smile that made Evan notice her in the first place, like she has a secret, and like she’s letting you in on it, and says “I’m just getting to know your new roommate.”

Connor turns, seems to notice Evan, and for just a second, his eyes go wide. He looks as scared as Evan feels. Weird. Evan’s definitely not the scary one in this situation. His shirt says “Why did the tree need to take a nap? For rest.” With a cartoon of a sleeping tree.

“Hi,” Evan says, squeakier than he would like.

“Do you boys know each other?” The woman who’s probably Mrs. Murphy asks.

“This is Evan. He went to high school with us,” Zoe supplies, looking smug.

“Yes, I did. So funny, small world, right?” Evan rambles, feeling a drop of sweat drip down his neck and soak into his shirt. 

“Well that’s lovely. It’ll be nice to have a familiar face here, right, Connor?” Mrs. Murphy asks.

“Nice, yeah.”

“Hey, you two should join us for lunch before orientation starts. We were planning on trying that Vegan restaurant up the street,” Mrs. Murphy says.

“We would, but you know, there’s so much unpacking, and-” Evan starts, but he’s interrupted by his mom.

“That sounds great. Were you planning on going now?”

He glares daggers at her, but she just grins and shrugs. He knows what she’s doing - trying to make a friend for him because she doesn’t think he can do it on his own. (So what if she’s right?)

“Yeah, we were going to let Connor unpack on his own later.”

“Works for us, right Evan?” his mom nudges him unsubtly.

“Sure, yes, that works.”

A spontaneous lunch with two strangers, his high school crush, and a boy who pushed him once, sounds like the exact kind of disaster Evan should have expected from his first day of college. _That’s what you get for not expecting the worst_ , Evan thinks, _it still happens, only you’re not prepared._

Evan’s mom chats with Mr. and Mrs. Murphy (“Call me Larry,” “Call me Cynthia,” they insisted, but it feels wrong) as they walk to the restaurant, while Connor, Evan, and Zoe are silent.

Evan tries to follow the conversation, but he keeps getting distracted by how close he is to Zoe, and how Connor is his freaking roommate, and he hasn’t thought about that letter in months, but now it’s all he can think about.

What if Connor’s been playing some long game all along, and he’s going to expose Evan for the loser he is now, so he never gets a chance at a fresh start in college. Or what if he thinks Evan is weird and creepy for crushing on his sister last year and asks to switch roommates, and Evan has to be the kid who’s roommate rejected him on the first day. Or what if-

He feels a bony elbow in his side, and looks up from the cracks in the sidewalk he’s been meticulously stepping over (his mother is on her feet all day; a broken back is the last thing she needs, and Evan’s not going to tempt fate) to see Connor.

“Chill,” Connor whispers, widening his eyes in what looks like annoyance. Evan isn’t sure whether it’s supposed to be comforting or rude when he adds, “You’re thinking so loud I can practically hear you.”

Evan nods and tries to tune back into the conversation ahead of them.

“Well I just finished my training to be a paralegal,” he hears his mom say. “So I’m currently looking for jobs, but until then, I’m a nurse.”

“Well isn’t that just kismet,” Mrs. Murphy says. “Larry was just telling me the other day that his law firm was looking for more paralegals. Isn’t that right, Larry?”

“It is,” he agrees. “I can give you my card, and we can set up an interview, if you’d like.”

“That would be incredible. Wow, you really don’t have to do that.”

“It’s no trouble,” Mr. Murphy says.

Zoe rolls her eyes. “Mom’s not used to having _Mom friends._ I think it’s going to her head.”

Connor chuckles.

Evan’s never heard him do that before. It’s nice.

Before they get their food, Evan gets up to wash his hands. (You can never be too careful to avoid spreading germs). Unexpectedly, Zoe follows him, loudly declaring “what a great point about sanitation, Evan.”

He doesn’t know what to say about that, so he just keeps walking to where he saw the bathrooms on the way to their table, hoping she doesn’t think his lack of response is rude.

Before they get there, but when they’re out of sight from their families, Zoe tugs on his arm to stop him.

“What - what are you doing?” He asks.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

He’s pretty sure he’s had dreams that started like this.

Zoe sighs, huffs, and looks annoyed to be having this conversation. Evan’s palms start sweating. This is how most of the dreams turned out too.

“It’s just, okay, like,” she starts. “You’ve seen Connor. You know how he is.”

Evan nods, but it feels like it would be rude to do more than that. He doesn’t know Connor _that_ well. He shouldn’t make judgements.

“And I know he’s a lot; I’ve basically been his keeper for years. But now, he’s going to be here, and I’m going to be in high school, and I guess what I’m asking is if you would keep an eye on him for me?”

This was certainly not what Evan was expecting.

“He’s all bark, no bite, you know? Like, the only one he ever really hurts is himself.”

Evan feels himself nodding, hears himself agree, and before he knows it, he’s got Zoe Murphy’s number programmed into his phone, and he’s back on the way to the bathroom to wash his hands.

\-----

Connor thought that college would be a fresh start.

Like Hanover had been.

A place where no one had heard stories about him or rumors, where no one flinched or called him names as he walked down the hall. He thought he would just get to be himself, unladen with all the things people expected him to be or thought he was.

He now realized that maybe going to the big state school half an hour from his home was not the way to achieve that.

It’s not like his parents couldn’t have afforded a private school somewhere far away. It’s just that he hadn’t gotten into any. Apparently colleges don’t really want to take depressed stoner kids, even if their parents do have money.

So here he is, watching Evan Hansen, of all people, unpack the few belongings he has.

Even though Connor brought at least twice as much stuff, he’s already finished setting it all up. Clothes: shoved in drawers. Books: piled on desk. Bedding: thrown on bed. 

Connor has known Evan since they were six, and he can count on one hand the number of times they’ve interacted.

The first time was first grade. They were in the same class, and hadn’t spoken one word to each other in the first six months of school. Thinking back on it, Connor realizes he doesn’t think he heard Evan speak to anyone up until that point. But that day, Connor had forgotten his pencil. 

Connor knows he’s always been emotionally reactive. He’s basically a nonstop cycle of feel, lash out, regret. When he was six, that meant he cried. A lot. He thinks now that maybe it would’ve been better if he kept that reputation as the crier instead of what he later became. 

But as he felt his eyes filling with tears over this forgotten pencil, he’d looked up to see little Evan, wide eyes even wider than usual, holding out one of those really cool pencils you could buy for fifty cents at the school store, the ones that smell like grape soda.

“Here,” he’d said. He didn’t even sit at Connor’s table, but somehow he’d noticed Connor’s distress from across the room.

Connor had taken it and felt better.

The second and third times Connor interacted with Evan hadn’t gone as well. He’d pushed him, then freaked out over an intensely depressing letter Evan had written to himself.

Maybe fourth time’s the charm.

“Hey Evan,” Connor says, and Evan startles.

“Yeah?”

“If you tell anyone that story about the printer in second grade,” Evan’s shaking a little, probably thinks big, bad Connor Murphy is going to threaten him, and Connor reminds himself to lower his voice, keep calm. “Well, it’ll just really suck for me, yeah? Also, like rehab and getting expelled from private school, and any of the other things you’ve probably heard about me.”

Evan nods, looks up at Connor with a tight, but honestly, kind of adorable smile, and says, “College is a fresh start, right? I get it.”

Connor doesn’t think he’s ever met someone so earnest. His heart flutters a little.

“Good. That's - good. So I think it’s time for us to get to orientation,” he says.

\-----

Conner is setting up some kind of complicated contraption with a grocery bag and a clothes hanger around the fire alarm, and Evan wants to ask what it is, but he doesn’t want to come across as naive, so he just tries to focus on something else.

Orientation was a lot. 

Too many ice breakers where he had to state his name and a fun fact, and he barely managed to stutter out, “I’m Evan Hansen, and I like trees,” and then the people he was with would laugh, and he couldn’t tell if it was with him or at him, so he’d just try to awkwardly chuckle along.

Too many people who called him “Mark” because that’s what it said on his name tag, and he knew he should correct them, but he couldn’t make himself, so he would just mumble out a reply until they went away. The third time it happened, Connor was in the same group as him, and he’d said, “Who the fuck is Mark? This is Evan,” and finally Evan had been able to explain that _technically_ his first name was Mark, but he’d always gone by his middle name, Evan, so that was his name, really, but then they swapped groups and Evan was on his own again.

Too many new places he was supposed to remember but knew he never would, and rules and procedures that were supposed to be natural, but weren’t, like when you’re getting food in the dining hall, are you supposed to wait in line or just grab a tray, and which stations take orders and which only have pre-prepared items, and where do you even sit when you have your food.

Now his head is reeling, and he feels like he’s on the verge of panic, but he’s not going to fall in. It’s only orientation. It’s too early to freak out.

“Hey, Evan?” Connor asks, and Evan looks up to where he’s apparently finished with the thing he’s setting up.

“Yeah?”

“Are you, like, good?”

“What?”

“No offense, but you kind of look like you’re going to cry.”

“I’m not! I’m not going to cry!” Evan insists, not because he wasn’t, but because Connor can’t know that, at least not yet. Like, sure, Evan reasons, given how Evan _is_ , Connor is probably going to see him crying at some point, but it’s only orientation, so not yet.

“Alright, well then, are you okay if I smoke?”

He pulls out some kind of cigarette or joint or something, Evan assumes marijuana, though he’s never seen it in person, so he wouldn’t know for sure. He realizes that’s probably what the fire alarm contraption is for.

“Oh, um, yeah, alright. That's okay if you…”

“Cool.”

Connor pushes open the window, sits on his bed, and lights the joint. Evan can’t take his eyes off him as he takes a few hits, the way his cheeks hollow just a little as he pulls in, the way his body goes slack almost instantly, even though Evan’s pretty sure it’s too soon for it to be taking effect.

Maybe Connor feels the eyes on him because he turns to Evan and smirks. “Do you want to try?”

Evan’s never done any drugs or drank any alcohol or anything, no matter what Jared tried to pressure him into in high school. He was always too afraid of getting caught and disappointing his mom, and maybe also a little nervous about what the wreck that is Evan Hansen would become under the influence of mind altering substances.

But this is college right? He’s made it this far, and he’s supposed to get out of his comfort zone and try new things, and there’s no way his mom will ever know, so he nods.

“I’ve never done it before, though, so I don’t know if I’ll get, like super paranoid or something, or if I’ll even do it right, so-"

Connor’s grin is wide and loose as he hands out the joint. “It’s pretty hard to do wrong. Just breathe in for a second. You’ll probably cough, but that’s okay. I cough sometimes, and I’m a certified stoner, got rehab to prove it and everything. And you won’t get paranoid. It’s not that kind of weed.”

“Good, cool, great.” Evan stands up and takes it, does what Connor says, and does, indeed, cough. After he’s handed it back to Connor, he takes big gulps from his water bottle.

“How long until it works?” he asks.

“It’ll take a few more hits before you feel anything, or feel less things, as it were. Come join me.” Connor pats the bed next to him, and Evan makes himself hop up to sit, bringing the water bottle with him.

“Fewer things,” Evan corrects, then, “sorry.”

Connor just laughs, pulls from the joint and hands it back to Evan.

“So is it true that you went to rehab?” Evan asks when he passes the joint back.

“Just once. And a wilderness retreat thing before that. But not because I had a problem, y’know. You don’t need to go all DARE on me or anything. I’m a stoner, not an addict, and if you see the kind of people who go to rehab, you realize the difference between the two pretty fast.”

“So why’d you go?”

“Got kicked out of private school for having weed. Funny thing is it wasn’t even mine. Not that I didn’t have my own stashed away.”

“Doesn’t sound funny,” Evan says. He thinks he’s starting to feel the effects of the marijuana, feels a giggle bubbling up in him against his will, and feels his limbs getting heavy.

“You’re laughing though.” Connor grins. “I think that’s a sign you’ve had enough for now.”

Evan nods, then nods again just because he likes the feeling of his hair bouncing. “Probably.”

Evan’s pretty sure it’s hitting Connor too, sees him sink further and further into the bed, until he’s leaning on Evan’s shoulder, his body reverberating with laughter.

“Can I touch your hair?” Evan asks the very moment the question jumps into his mind. It looks so soft.

“How very forward of you,” Connor laughs, and Evan doesn’t even think to be embarrassed by the innuendo. “Go ahead.”

Evan was right, Connor’s hair is soft, silky and long, and at first, he just runs his fingers through it, watching the way it flows over them like water over rocks. When the joint has burnt itself to the very end, Connor puts it out, and leaves the stub on the windowsill. Evan keeps playing with his hair, but remembering how nice it used to feel when his mom would scratch gently at his scalp, he switches his focus to that.

He doesn’t hear the first time Connor moans, just feels the vibrations of it, but he hears it the second time. Somewhere distant in his mind where sober Evan might have heard, alarm bells go off _abort mission abort mission this is toomuch_ , but high Evan, just asks, “s’it feel nice?”

Connor turns, looks into his eyes in a way that Evan would usually avoid, and Evan notices his pupils are wide, so wide Evan thinks maybe if he looked long enough he could see right into his soul. “It feels like I should be paying you because it feels so good,” Connor says.

Evan giggles. “You paid me in drugs.”

Connor laughs and shakes him off. “It was a good thing, and you made it dirty.”

“I think your moaning did that, actually,” Evan throws back.

He watches as Connor flushes, a dark red creeping up his neck into his pale cheeks. It makes him look young and innocent and nothing like the scary, angry loner Evan’s thought of him as for all these years. “That was- it was,” he stammers, and Evan laughs. What a role reversal.

Finally, Connor glares, but there’s no real anger behind it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s see how you like it.”

It would probably be a better threat if what Connor was suggesting wasn’t petting Evan’s head. As it is, Evan leans in to encourage it.

As Connor’s nails scratch gently at Evan’s scalp, he says, “Has any told you you’re literally a puppy. Those big, honest eyes. All that nervous energy. Now the petting.”

“Then you’re a cat. Trying to play at being all edgy and mysterious, but actually, you’re really soft and cuddly.”

“I’ll have you know I really am edgy and mysterious. I went to rehab once.”

Evan shakes his head, but not enough that Connor stops running his fingers along his scalp. “Nope, the jig is up. One day sharing a room, and you’ve already given yourself away. No mystery left. No edges. Just soft and cuddly.”

“You’re the one whose head is in my lap,” Connor points out, and Evan looks around to realize that at some point, leaning against Connor turned into using his crossed legs as a pillow. If Connor minded though, he would stop scratching his head, so Evan doesn’t try to get up. He’s comfortable.

“You’re the one who’s letting it be.”

Evan loses track of time in the soothing movement of Connor’s hand in his hair. He gets it now, why people smoke weed. He was ready to have a panic attack earlier, and now, his body and mind are calm, happy even. He’s somewhere worries can’t get him.

Even as it starts to wear off, it’s like there’s a veil between the things he’s scared of, and their actual ability to hurt him. He thinks again of that letter from a year ago, and before he can second guess, he’s asking, “Do you remember in the computer lab last year? The letter thing you took from me?”

Connor flinches and says, “yeah, I remember.”

“I was just wondering, well I’ve been wondering for a year actually, why didn’t you do anything with it? You were so mad, and I thought, like, you had the perfect thing to get revenge, written proof that I’m a freak. So why didn’t you use it?”

Connor looks sad, regretful maybe.

“I didn’t read it at first, just saw Zoe’s name and freaked the fuck out, y’know.”

Evan does know. He remembers it all too clearly.

“But then, I did read it later, and the shit about my sister was kind of weird, granted, but the rest. It was dark. Like I don’t think anyone who looked at you in high school would’ve thought - ‘wow, this guy’s totally in a great place mentally.’”

It’s funny when he says it that way, even though it is decidedly un-funny in general.

“But that letter was kind of next level. Like, ‘spend weeks wondering if I should turn it into the guidance office before you off yourself’ next level. Like ‘if you died, I definitely would’ve blamed myself’ next level.”

“Oh,” Evan says, so quiet he’s not sure Connor even hears it.

“If I had known you were so worried about what I was doing with it, I would’ve said something. I just didn’t even think. Maybe I hoped it was obvious. That I wasn’t the type of person to share someone’s darkest thoughts with the world.”

Evan feels a harsh laugh startled from him. “Those were hardly my darkest thoughts. That was, like, me trying to be positive.”

Connor stares at him, comically wide-eyed. “Then I am wildly impressed that you’re still alive.”

“It’s the anxiety,” Evan says, dead serious. “I’m too afraid to live and too afraid to die.”

“That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Connor says, and then they’re both laughing, not because it’s funny, but because it is so very, very not.

“And just for the record,” Evan adds. “I didn’t know then that you weren’t that type of person, but I know now. Soft and cuddly, right?”

Connor shoves his shoulder, but it’s playful. “Get off my bed if you’re going to slander me like this.”

Evan stands. “I’m only listening because I’m sleepy. You’re not the boss of me.”

  
\-----

Connor’s alarm isn’t set to go off until 10 AM. He purposely chose his schedule to avoid morning classes.

So it’s a little bit of a surprise when he checks his phone to see that it’s only 7:45. He’s about to turn back over and claim those extra two hours and fifteen minutes of sleep when he notices what woke him up in the first place.

Evan is pacing the small room and muttering to himself. He looks frantic.

Connor makes himself sit up. “Evan?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

The other boy whips around to face him, eyes going wide. “And now I’ve woken you up. I’m such a fucking disaster, I’m so sorry you have to live with me. It’s only the first day, and I’m already failing. I can’t I can’t I can’t…”

He sinks into the carpeted ground, like the strings holding him up have snapped, pulling his knees to his chest, and cautiously, Connor climbs out of bed to join him. 

“I don’t mind,” Connor assures him. “You’re having a panic attack.”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees, resting his head against his knees.

“It’ll pass soon.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t know.” Evan shrugs.

Connor knows that code well enough from all the times he’s used it. It means, _yes I know exactly what you could do to help me, but I don’t want to burden you by asking._

Thinking back on last night, he tries to break the tension, maybe make Evan comfortable enough to ask for what he needs by asking, “Do you want me to play with your hair?”

He’s not sure the response he’s expecting, but it’s definitely not the pleading look Evan directs at him like that’s actually exactly what he wanted. What else can Connor do but comply?

As he scratches Evan’s scalp, he jokes, “No moaning though. It’s weird when you’re sober.”

Evan giggles, a genuine, light giggle, and Connor lets that go all the way to his head. He did that, he made Evan laugh when he was having a panic attack.

After a few minutes, Evan stands up, shakes himself off, and grabs his backpack from his desk. “I’m going to be late,” he says while Connor watches in awe from the floor. To go from complete meltdown to this mask of functioning so quickly, Connor could never do that. But, he thinks sadly, this is the boy who fell out of a tree, broke his arm, and _got up_ to go find himself help.

“One second,” Connor says, standing. Evan turns back around. Connor quickly scribbles his phone number on a sticky note and puts it in Evan’s hand. Just because he _can_ put himself together doesn’t mean he should have to. “It’s my phone number. Just for whatever, but like, if you need anything, you can text me, or call.”

“Oh,” Evan says, staring. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, of course. Now, you should go before you’re late.”

“Right.”

\-----

Evan was too nervous to go to the club fair, all those crowds and having to approach people and having people approach him sounded like how he literally imagined Hell, but Dr. Sherman had suggested that joining a club would be good for him, so in a moment of confidence, he had emailed the GSA’s contact person to ask about upcoming meetings.

And now he’s here, filling his plate from the small buffet in the Center for Diversity. He thought it would be overwhelming, but so far, it’s fine. The Center for Diversity was easy to find, clearly labeled on the second floor of the student center. There are a lot of people milling about, grabbing food, but only because there are a few club meetings happening at the same time in different offices and rooms of the Diversity Center. 

It’s still much less hectic than the dining hall, which okay, yeah, he still hasn’t had the courage to actually go to.

He’s pretty sure you can survive on protein bars and dry cereal.

Evan loads up his plate, now, though and makes his way into the little room with the rainbow on the door, like the email he received said to.

It’s a bit more crowded that he would like, not because there are a lot of people, but because the space is so small that the eleven people already here nearly fill it up. There are no free chairs, but one of the loveseats is still empty, so Evan makes his way to that and hopes desperately no one else shows up and tries to sit next to him.

“I’m Hannah,” a smiling girl to the left of him says, “Sophomore. She/her.”

“Oh, um, hi. I’m Evan. Um, he/him. Freshman.”

He keeps watching the door in case someone comes in and takes the spot next to him on the loveseat, so he’s only paying a little bit of attention to their conversation about majors and how to first week of classes is going and all the small talk that he’s gotten so used to this last week that even he can do it on autopilot.

Just as a tall girl with curly, bright pink hair stands up to start the meeting, the door creaks, and Evan’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. _Just sit on the floor please,_ he thinks, but then he looks up to see that it’s not some stranger, but Connor, and when he crosses the room to sit next to Evan, offering a small smile as he does, Evan actually feels relieved.

He thinks maybe he and Connor are friends. He takes a bite of his fettuccine alfredo and doesn’t even think that much about if anyone else can hear him chewing, and when the girl with the pink hair, Violet, he learns, starts talking, he’s calm enough to actually listen.

“Hi, I’m Violet. I use she/her pronouns. I’m a senior studying Comparative Literature, and I’m the president of this club. For all the new people here, we meet every Friday, and we do a little bit of outreach and community events, but mostly it’s just meant to be a safe space to hang out, get to know people, and talk about gay shit.”

A few people chuckle.

“Kat, our vice president, has a few official matters of business before I ask if anyone’s been watching _Euphoria_.”

Again, a few people chuckle, and a person with a shaved head and a septum ring and an aesthetic that Evan would describe as _scary, but in a good way_ , stands up. “I’m Kat. They/them, junior, math major. I think it’s weird that I’m standing up for this, but Violet did, so now I feel like I have to. I’m just here to report back that I’ve spoken with admin, and as soon as I send in the form, this club will be renamed from _GSA_ to _Spectrum_ to be more inclusive of all the different parts of the LGBT+ community. And I have been watching _Euphoria_.”

Everyone seems to break off then into smaller conversations with the people sitting immediately closest to them, and for a second Evan’s worried he’s going to have to figure out a way to enter one of the conversations, but before that worry has time to take root and grow, a blonde guy in a rainbow bro tank turns to him and Connor.

“Are you guys freshman?”

Evan nods, and Connor says, “Yeah, I’m Connor.”

“I’m Evan,” Evan adds.

“Cool, I’m Daniel. I’m a sophomore and a brother of Delta Epsilon Eta. I know what you’re thinking: ‘a gay frat bro, unheard of,’ but here I am, living and thriving proof.”

“Fascinating,” Connor says, thick with sarcasm, and Evan can’t help but laugh.

“He’s not making fun of you,” Evan jumps in quickly. “He’s just like this.”

“I’m definitely making fun of you,” Connor deadpans.

Daniel shrugs like he really doesn’t care, and Evan thinks that if his arms were that big, he probably wouldn’t care either. “I wouldn’t be wearing a rainbow bro tank if I wasn’t expecting to be teased by the edgy-gays. Kat’s been giving me shit for a year. But you gotta own the persona, right?" 

Evan looks down at his blue polo and khakis, and he’s not sure it’s a persona he wants to own.

“So do you guys know each other?” Daniel asks.

“We’re roommates,” Evan says at the same time Connor responds, “We went to the same high school.”

“Both,” Evan corrects. “We are roommates, and also, we went to the same high school.”

“That’s adorable,” Daniel says. “My freshman roommate was an asshole.”

They keep chatting for a while until Hannah, the girl Evan was talking to earlier joins, and the conversation changes direction, and after that, it goes by pretty quickly, Evan staying where he is, and what seems like the entirety of Spectrum Club coming up in turns to introduce themselves to him and Connor, who appear to be the only freshmen in attendance.

When the hour is finally over, Evan is socially exhausted, but just in the normal way. It went well.

As they’re heading out, he and Connor leaving together by some unspoken agreement, they’re stopped by a man with salt and pepper hair and warm brown eyes and the kind of face that could be 25 or could be 40 and you wouldn’t know the difference.

“I’m Peter,” he says with a gentle voice that makes Evan instantly trust him. “I meant to stop in at the Spectrum gathering to introduce myself, but I got pulled into a meeting. I’m one of the associate directors here at the Center for Diversity, specifically in charge of LGBT+ outreach, but I’m also a confidential resource to come to if you run into any problems during your time here. Also, there’s a ton of leftovers, and we have to-go containers.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Evan says, then when he’s left, “Do you think he introduced himself to us because we look like the kind of people who are having problems and need to reach out to a confidential resource?”

Connor starts pushing him towards the door. “No. He introduced himself because we’re the only freshmen who showed up to Spectrum.”

“Yeah, okay. Wait.” Evan says stopping. Connor just raises an eyebrow until Evan says, “Can we take some leftovers. I don’t - the dining hall scares me, and this way I have dinner.”

“Want me to get some too? Then you also have lunch for tomorrow.”

Evan nods, extremely grateful that he’s ended up with Connor Murphy as his roommate.

\-----

Connor’s walking with Evan from the one class they share, Introduction to World Literature, back to the dorm. It’s nice, still too warm to feel like fall, really, but the air is starting to cool just enough that Connor’s not sweating in his jacket.

His classes haven’t been too bad, so far. They’re all gen-eds, and sure, they’re not the most interesting, but unlike when he would get bored in high school, he’s still trying. He’s still doing the boring busywork and taking notes in class, and he hasn’t slept through a single lecture yet.

It really is a fresh start.

They’re walking in silence, but it’s the nice kind. Peaceful. Companionable.

He feels a tug on his arm, then, “Connor?”

The quiet fear, almost desperation, in Evan’s voice is enough to stop him. “What’s wrong?”

“I just-” but Evan doesn’t have time to finish before he’s falling in what seems to Connor like slow motion. It’s clear he loses consciousness a little bit at a time, collapsing to sitting before he completely goes limp. Connor manages to catch him before his head hits the concrete of the path. He ends up sitting with Evan’s head cradled in his lap.

People are stopping to look, which seems pretty unavoidable since they’re in the middle of a busy walkway, and a guy with a backwards baseball cap says he’s called security.

“Evan?” Connor asks, shaking his shoulder just a little.

Evan blinks a few times and opens his eyes. “What - what’s happening? I don’t feel good.”

“You just fainted. What do you mean you don’t feel good?” Connor runs his fingers through Evan’s hair and hopes it’s soothing.

“Dizzy. Sick.”

“Okay, security’s on the way. Are you going to throw up?”

“No. My stomach’s empty. Haven’t eaten today.” He closes his eyes like it’s too much effort to keep them open.

“Do you think you can get up?” Connor asks. “So we can wait on the bench instead of the middle of the sidewalk?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Despite what Evan says, Connor still has to help lift him from the ground, and Evan leans heavily on him for the entire five steps to the bench. When they finally get there, Evan goes right back to lying down with his head in Connor’s lap.

Now that they’re no longer in the way, the crowd that’s gathered starts to disperse. Like this isn’t particularly interesting anymore, and everyone’s remembering they have their lives to get on with.

It takes security ten minutes to get to them while Evan seems to fade in and out and Connor continues stroking his hair. Connor thinks that’s much too long to take to respond to a report of a student literally collapsing. What else could possibly be more important at 4 PM on a Wednesday?

Evan seems to see them approaching at the same time Connor does, and he says, “Y’know, this is about how long I waited for help when I broke my arm. But no one came.”

“I’m here now. And security’s right there.” It was a sad story when Connor heard it the first time in the computer lab, and now it’s downright heartbreaking with Evan so fragile in front of him.

“Yeah,” Evan agrees.

Connor waves the security guards over when they’re close enough, and they start asking Evan a bunch of different questions and performing tests on him. He responds well enough, but he’s not stuttering or repeating himself or rambling like Connor would expect him to in a situation like this, and that doesn’t seem good. Seems a bit like he doesn’t have enough energy to be nervous.

Finally, one of the security guards says that it seems like low blood sugar, but he should go to the health center just in case. Connor helps Evan into the security cart, lets him lean on him the whole way, and he waits in the waiting area while Evan sees one of the doctors.

As he waits, it all starts to come together. The security guard saying it was low blood sugar that made Evan faint. Evan saying he hadn’t eaten yet today. Last week at the Spectrum meeting, Evan loading up on leftovers because he didn’t like to go to the dining hall. The fact that the only things Connor’s seen Evan eating are bowls of dry cereal and protein bars.

Evan’s not just a little scared of the dining hall; he’s been too scared to go at all.

When Evan steps out into the waiting area, he looks surprised to see Connor. “You’re still here?”

Connor hadn’t even thought of leaving, but now he wonders if it was weird that he stayed. He shrugs. “It’s not like I had anywhere else to be.”

Evan beams at that, and Connor decides that no, it wasn’t weird that he stayed. It was absolutely what he needed to do. He asks, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, it was just low blood sugar. They gave me some juice, and I’m good as new.”

“Great. That’s good. Since you’re doing better, I was thinking maybe we could swing by the Walden Cafe for dinner on our way back.”

“Oh, I don’t- I don’t know,” Evan starts twisting his hands.

All his fears confirmed, Connor sighs, “Evan. You have to eat real food.”

“I know. I do. It’s just- it’s just the dining hall is so big, and there are so many rules, and I don’t know when it’s supposed to be my turn, or whether I’m supposed to - supposed to order or get one of the pre prepared things or when it’s like self serve or when you’re supposed to wait for them to hand it to you, and-”

“It’s okay,” Connor says. “That’s why I suggested Walden. It’s still part of the board plan, but it’s run just like a regular cafe. You order at the counter, swipe your card, then they call your number, and you pick up your order.”

“But-But what if- what if I don’t know what to order, and they’re staring at me waiting while I try to figure out what I want?”

“The menu’s online. You can decide while we walk over there.”

“I - I didn’t know that.”

“All the cafe’s have their menus posted. And central dining posts the specials, but I’ll hold off on helping you navigate that clusterfuck until you’ve mastered the cafes.”

\-----

Pretty quickly, things start to stabilize. Evan figures out the best routes to all his classes and where to sit in the lecture hall so he doesn’t get crowded. He and Connor get dinner together every evening, and after a week, Evan’s finally brave enough to try the dining hall (he only panics for a minute before Connor’s guiding him through the stations, explaining how they work, and finding the two of them a small table in a far corner of the large space).

He makes a calendar for his classes, his assignments, and his exams, and he sticks to it religiously.

He and Connor go to the weekly Spectrum meetings, and at the second one, Hannah invites them to her board game night. They actually go, and Evan has a really good time. He loses at Avalon, but wins at Scrabble.

Once a week, he takes the bus to Dr. Sherman’s office for therapy, and he tells him about how well he’s doing, how he’s managing his classes and making friends. He doesn’t tell him how he had a panic attack when he tried to go to the dining hall alone, and Connor was in class, so he hid in the bathroom until he remembered how to breathe. He doesn’t tell him how he cried for an hour in the shower after Hannah’s game night because he was convinced Kat hated him. He doesn’t tell him how even though his mom calls every day, it’s only for the ten minutes of her drive from work, or how he hasn’t talked to his dad at all since school started or how when Jared texted him that he finally got a job to pay for his own car insurance, Evan had thrown his phone at the wall.

Those are small omissions, Evan thinks. Overall, things are going well.

He’s three weeks into college, and he’s doing just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist the Fangirl reference. Also, fun fact, this is the two year anniversary of when I saw Dear Evan Hansen live on the national tour, and at intermission, the woman next to me and my friends told us she was one of Ben Platt's high school teachers.
> 
> Can you tell I'm touch starved in quarantine? I just want someone to play with my hair, is that too much to ask??
> 
> I'm an ADHD disaster, so I don't have an upload schedule, but I'm highly externally motivated, so the best way to ensure I update in a timely manner is to leave kudos and comments. I love hearing your opinions, theories, thoughts, anything. Tell me if you also want someone to play with your hair, or if you, too, love slow burns but lack the patience to write them. Also, let me know if there are other trigger warnings you want me to tag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for depression, self harm, talk of suicide, recreational drug use, drinking

Connor knows it’s going to be a bad day from the moment he wakes up, 2:30 in the afternoon rain pouring outside the window, Evan out, probably at class like Connor’s supposed to be. He’s sure he set his alarm to wake him up at 11 this morning, but when he checks his phone, he sees that he messed it up. There’s an alarm set. Just, for 11 PM.

A stupid fucking mistake. Ruining everything. Like always.

His chest feels heavy, full, like something dark is settling in there and making itself at home. Maybe it’s been there all along. Maybe he is the dark thing inside himself, and everything else is just smoke and mirrors. An illusion of functionality.

He pulls his blanket back over his head, but no matter how he tries, he can’t fall back asleep and escape the waves of _bad_ tossing against the places in his mind he thought were finally clean.

_You’re worthless. You hurt everyone you care about. Or they hurt you. Either way, you’re alone. Because that’s what you deserve. And it’s never going to get better. Because you’re never going to get better. You can live in a different town and go to a different school, but you’re still the same fuck-up as always._

He doesn’t notice he’s crying until his head starts to throb from it, and when he’s finally run out of tears, he just lies there, wishing for numbness. But Connor doesn’t get numb. He just keeps feeling and feeling, and there’s no release from it. He needs-

He’s still under the blanket, but he hears the door open. It must be 4:15.

“Connor?” He hears Evan ask, “You weren’t in World Lit? Are you feeling alright?”

He pulls the blanket down so Evan can see his face and glares at him. He doesn’t know why he does it. He’s not mad, not even annoyed, but it’s like a habit, a mean, ugly habit that he’ll never break. Feel bad, lash out, regret, repeat.

Only Evan doesn’t look scared, not even taken aback. If Connor had to guess, he would say the other boy’s expression is _concerned_.

“That seems like a no. Do you want me to leave you alone?”  
  


Connor really, really doesn’t. He never wants to be alone when he feels like this. But he hurts people, and Evan’s looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes, and Connor doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t want to be alone, but he deserves to be.

“Please,” he scratches out, voice raw from all the crying earlier. He bets he looks like shit, eyes puffy and rimmed in red, hair tangled and greasy. It’s a wonder Evan can stand to look at him at all.

“Alright,” Evan draws out the ‘i’ like he doesn’t believe Connor, but he doesn’t challenge him, just starts gathering a few books into his backpack. “I’ll be at the library for a few hours, but text me if you need anything.”

Connor hums his assent, but they both know he won’t text.

A few hours pass like days, and also like seconds. Connor loses track of himself in the swirlings in his mind, and it’s both too soon and too long when Evan comes back into the room, takeout container in hand.

Connor’s brain spares him a moment of reprieve to be proud Evan managed to get himself food without any help. Then Evan pushes the container toward Connor.

“I thought, um, you probably hadn’t eaten. Don’t-don’t worry though. I got myself food on the way to the library.”

Connor opens it to see Walden’s Signature Roast Beef Sandwich, his favorite. He has to force himself not to cry. He didn’t know that Evan had noticed, didn’t know anyone would bother to notice something as small as him ordering the same sandwich every day.

And even though Evan’s terrified of ordering his own food, he just did it twice, subjected himself to that fear an extra time just for Connor.

“I don’t- um- thanks,” Connor says, throat tight.

Evan busies himself with something on his computer while Connor eats, but as soon as he’s finished, Evan looks up, making it clear he’s been paying attention the whole time.

“I-I was thinking, um, wondering if I could braid your hair,” he pushes it out in one breath like he’s afraid of losing the nerve halfway through.

“What?”

“Sorry-I mean- Sorry if that’s, like, super weird. I just- I thought-”

“No. It’s not. It’s not weird. It’s just my hair, it’s kind of greasy and tangled. It’s not soft like before.”

“That’s okay. I can brush it too. If that’s alright.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

  
Connor puts the empty takeout container on his nightstand and Evan grabs his brush from his desk before climbing up onto Connor’s bed. It’s funny, Connor thinks, that he and Evan went to the same school for twelve years without talking to each other, and now after just three weeks, the other boy will get into his bed without a second thought.

It’s nice.

When Connor was a kid, he was always so jealous watching his mom brush Zoe’s hair. It’s not that she didn’t brush his too, but it was short. It didn’t take that long, wasn’t the relaxing ritual it seemed to be with Zoe.

He imagines this is close to what it felt like. Evan is so gentle, he doesn’t pull once, just slowly working the brush through the mess of Connor’s hair, detangling it calmly and carefully, making sure every single knot is gone. He runs his fingers through it once when he’s done to be sure, scratches his nails gently against Connor’s scalp for a second, sending shivers down his spine, then starts sectioning it off to braid.

  
Connor was expecting something simple and quick, but Evan starts with little sections at the top, pulling more strands in, small clumps at a time, making sure none pull weirdly or bump up before moving on to the next.

The darkness doesn’t leave his chest, but as Evan’s fingers wind their way through the french braid, Connor feels it make a little bit of room, space for the warmth Evan’s offering him so effortlessly.

When he’s nearing the end, Evan says, “This way, you don’t have to worry about it until you’re feeling better.”

He finishes it off with a hair tie, and Connor gives into the urge to lean into him, just a little. “You didn’t have to-”

“Yeah, I know. I just - it’s like - we’re friends right? So if I can do something small to make you feel better, or make your life easier when your brain is making it hard, I want to. Like, if you want space, I’ll give it to you, but- but, you’re not alone. Okay?”

Connor knows he feels things fast and intense, but he’s not sure he’s ever felt like this. Like someone understands him, without him having to find the words to explain. Like someone _knows_ him, even in the dark parts, and still wants him around.

There’s a heavy darkness in Connor’s chest, but feeling Evan solid behind him, there are also butterflies in his stomach.

\----

Evan thinks Connor is doing a little better, but he can’t be sure. 

He’s going to class, and he’s getting his own food, which he didn’t do those first few days, but he’s still not smiling most of the time. He still comes back from lecture like all his energy’s been drained, and while he used to spend his free time reading or sketching or watching something on his computer, now it seems like he mostly stares at the ceiling.

He still has the braid Evan wove into his hair a week ago. It’s starting to loosen a little bit (Evan hadn’t wanted to pull too hard and accidentally hurt Connor, but he sacrificed some structure for that). He’s not washing his hair or shaving (Evan doesn’t need to shave, but it looks like Connor does).

Evan knows what a depressive episode looks like, has dealt with far too many of his own, but he’s never been able to pull himself out, and so he doesn’t know how to make this better for Connor.

He hopes his presence is something. Connor hasn’t asked him to leave since that first day, and Evan remembers how lonely it used to be, stuck in his room, drowning in his own thoughts. He won’t let Connor feel like that.

“Want to get high?” Connor asks out of the blue.

Evan’s smoked with Connor a few times since that first time, more than a few if he’s being honest. Really, it’s become as much a part of the ritual of college as classes or homework. A few times a week, he and Connor get high together.

It’s nice. It calms Evan, and more often than not, it comes with playing with Connor’s hair or Connor playing with his, or the two of them curled up together watching TV.

But Connor hasn’t suggested it since the depression hit. Evan figures this is a good sign.

“You know me,” Evan laughs, a little awkwardly. “Always down to do drugs.”

Connor smirks. “Your mom must be so disappointed in you.”

“What she will _never_ know can’t hurt her.”

Connor lights the joint, and Evan joins him on the bed, as has become customary. At first, Evan would get nervous that some of the ash would fall and start a fire, but he’s come to realize that Connor’s too careful to let that happen.

They smoke in silence, passing the joint between them, and by the time it’s finished, Connor is leaning against Evan, his head resting on his shoulder and turned up like he’s studying the underside of Evan’s chin.

“A very attractive angle of me you’re seeing right now,” Evan jokes.

Connor doesn’t seem to acknowledge that. Instead, he says, unprompted, like maybe it’s something he’s been thinking for a while and just got the courage to say, “You don’t need to be so good to me. You braided my hair and got me food, and you don’t leave even though I know I’m the worst to be around. I don’t deserve you.”

Connor’s eyes are watery, and his voice wavers, and Evan wraps his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in tight.

“I wouldn’t even know how to get food without you, so it’s really the least I can do. And you’re one of my favorite people to be around, Connor,” he says, knowing that’s too honest, but high enough that he doesn’t care. “Even when you’re depressed, I like being around you.”

Connor turns his face into Evan’s neck, so he doesn’t see when he starts crying so much as feels the water against his skin and the shaking of Connor’s thin frame. “Why? Why would you like that?”

Evan thinks if he was sober, he’d probably be freaking out about this, about what he’s supposed to do here, but instead he just does what feels right and starts rubbing circles into Connor’s back with his free hand.

“Because you’re funny, and like, really creative, and you’re so nice to me. You help me when I’m scared, and being with you feels like I’m not alone, but without all the pressure that usually comes with being around people.” Evan takes a deep breath. “Your brain is just lying to you right now. You’re so much better than it tells you.”

Connor brings his arms up to wrap around Evan, and no one has ever clung to him like this before. No one’s ever _needed him_ like this. He’s not going to let Connor down.

He holds him until he’s stopped shaking, and even when Connor pulls away, it’s not far, still leaning into Evan’s side, still clutching his shirt in one of his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“You don’t need to apologize. All you did was have feelings.”

“Yeah.”

“So do you want to watch _Star Wars_ ? It feels like a _Star Wars_ kind of night.”

They curl up with Connor’s head on Evan’s chest, and Evan’s laptop in front of them playing _Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope_ , but Connor falls asleep within minutes, and Evan doesn’t last much longer.

\-----

Connor had seemed a little off when Evan gathered his shower stuff and left the room, like the text from his dad earlier in the evening had done something to him, but Evan didn’t think much of it. Connor’s been slightly off for days.

Now, he realizes he probably should have paid a bit more attention.

“Get out!” Connor screams as Evan opens the door. He hasn’t yelled at Evan in the whole month they’ve lived together, and Evan is fully ready to listen, turn and go and find somewhere else to spend as long as humanly possible, but his eyes catch on a glint of light, a razor blade pressed between Connor’s fingers. It’s the kind made for fancy old fashioned razors, but he doesn’t think Connor intends on shaving.

Evan’s never this bold, but he thinks of the promise he made Zoe to keep an eye on Connor, how she said the only person Connor ever hurts is himself, and he thinks of Connor the other night, curled into his side, so exhausted from fighting his own brain that he fell asleep five minutes into _Star Wars_ , and he makes himself come all the way into the room, makes himself shut the door behind him.

“I said leave!”

“I think maybe that’s not the best idea,” Evan forces out.

And Connor deflates, falls in on himself like a building no longer able to hold up its own weight, and his expression turns into something much scarier than the rage from seconds ago. Written on all his features is pure desperation, hopelessness, the feeling so familiar to Evan it’s practically home.

He holds the blade out, and Evan takes it, puts it on his desk. He’ll figure out a way to get rid of it later.

“I haven’t-” his voice shakes. “ _y’know_ in months.”

Evan has no clue what to do here. Is there a rulebook for situations like this? _What to Do When You Walk in on Your Roommate and New-ish Friend About to Hurt Himself?_ Seems a bit long to be a book title. Maybe a helpful hint instead?

“You didn’t today,” he says.

Connor shakes his head, long hair whipping around him, tears starting to make their way down his narrow face. “Only because you take freakishly short showers.”

“Public showers make me nervous,” Evan admits, shrugging.

Connor chuckles. It feels like a win.

“So what stopped you before? You said you haven’t in months.” Connor didn’t say the words, so Evan won’t.

“A friend,” Connor says, then shakes his head again. “My ex-boyfriend,” he corrects. “He would distract me when I felt… but really, I was so happy when I was with him, I didn’t even really feel...”

Evan imagines this last two weeks must’ve felt especially bad if Connor had really been doing well for so long, not just another in a long line of depressive episodes, but proof that Connor still wasn’t _okay_ . Proof that maybe Connor would never be 100% _okay_.

“How’d he distract you?” Evan asks, recognizing the innuendo the moment it comes out of his mouth and feels himself blush.

Connor raises a suggestive eyebrow, but then gives it up and laughs, albeit a little manically. “No, nothing like that. Just simple things. Talking. Watching funny TV. Reading to me.”

“Well we both know I’m terrible at talking, but I’m down to watch some funny TV,” Evan says, and Connor looks so surprised that it’s painful to look at him. It’s the same expression he got when Evan brought him food the other day, when he braided his hair to keep it from tangling. Like it never even occurred to him that someone else would be willing to help, that someone would want to make his life easier. “Do you have a go-to?”

Connor nods, pulls up _Friends_ on Netflix, and they settle in on Connor’s bed to watch. Evan doesn’t even think about leaving until he sees that Connor’s tear tracks are dry and his breathing is even and he’s laughing at all the dumb jokes on the screen, and even when Evan does think about it, he decides he doesn’t really want to. This is better than anything else he can think of doing.

\----

Slowly, one day at a time, Connor feels the darkness unclench, ease it’s grip on him. It happens faster than usual; he’s had bouts of this darkness that last months, but after two weeks, this one seems to ease.

He’s pretty sure it’s because of Evan. 

It used to be like this when he was with Miguel, like the darkness didn’t have as much to stick to. It would still show up from time to time, but it would leave just as fast.

He kind of fucking hates himself for that. Because apparently he can only be happy when someone else is guiding him there.

Connor and Evan are in their room studying. Well, Evan’s studying. Connor’s doodling and trying not to be angry with Evan because it’s not like it’s _his_ fault there’s something broken inside Connor.

“I - Sorry- I was wondering - Feel free to not answer, but are you in therapy?” Evan asks.

“Not in years,” Connor says, trying not to let the bitterness bleed through. It’s not that he wants to be in therapy. He fucking hated therapy when he was in it. But he can’t think about therapy without thinking about all the times his parents fought over it, about his dad’s insistence on structure and consistency (“Just give it time, Cynthia. It’ll work if he keeps at it.”), and his mom’s impatience with anything that didn’t show immediate effects (“Why waste time when it’s not working, Larry? We should be trying something new.”), and how neither of those things worked.

Because at the end of the day, what’s wrong with Connor isn’t something that can be fixed.

“Okay, because-because I was just thinking it might be good for you to try?”

Connor wants to snap. _You think I haven’t fucking tried? Haven’t tried every little thing. CBT, DBT, group therapy, art therapy, rehab, wilderness retreats, fucking goat yoga._

But Connor knows Evan’s just doing what he can to help, so he makes himself take a deep breath and say, “I’ve tried a lot of things. They didn’t do much.”

“I don’t mean to assume anything about your experience, right, but sometimes, it’s just not the right thing. Or the right fit. Or the right time. But it can be- it can be good having someone to talk to. Um, or, like someone who can help you with tools for managing when you feel bad. So, like, even if I’m not there, you won’t get hurt.”

No one has ever sold therapy to him like that. It’s always been, “This will make you feel better, Connor,” or “Maybe this will make you stop acting like this.” It was like Connor was the problem and therapy was supposed to be the solution.

But the way Evan’s looking at Connor doesn’t make him feel like he’s a problem. Really, it makes him feel like he’s some kind of precious thing that Evan doesn’t want to see broken.

Maybe that’s what therapy’s supposed to be. Cushioning, so he can fall without breaking.

And that doesn’t really seem so bad.

“I’ll try,” Connor says.

“That’s-that’s good. I can send you the link to the counseling center’s website if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

Evan turns back to his work, and it takes Connor a second to tear his eyes away from the boy. 

\----

“Want to get coffee?” Connor asks from his desk. Evan takes the desk and the coffee as a sign that he’s doing better. Also, he washed his hair yesterday, so it’s framing his face in soft waves, and the bags under his eyes are almost gone.

“That could be fun. I’ve been reading this textbook so long that words are starting to lose meaning.”

“Never good,” Connor says, “When you stop being able to read.”

Evan can’t help but think of _The Bell Jar_ , and how Esther was always talking about how when she felt bad, she couldn’t read. He wonders if Connor’s ever read _The Bell Jar_ , and he’s about to ask when he realizes what a tremendously bad idea that would be.

Like, _hey Connor, have you read this incredibly depressing book by an author who killed herself a month after it was published?_ Doesn’t seem like the best question for one mentally ill person to ask another.

Instead he says, “I’m ready to go if you are.”

It’s one of those days that’s so hot it makes you doubt fall’s ever actually coming, so Evan’s relieved when they step into the air conditioned coffee shop, but it’s a short lived relief because it seems kind of busy inside, which means there’s going to be a line behind him, so he’s going to have to order quickly, and everyone will be waiting while he holds up the line trying to put his money back into his wallet.

“How about you get us a table?” Connor suggests, reassuring hand on Evan’s shoulder. “And I’ll order. What do you want?”

“Well, I can’t have caffeine because it makes me shaky and nervous and too aware of my own heartbeat which makes me think I’m having a heart attack, and also I don’t really like coffee anyway, even though I know I’m an adult, and adults are supposed to like coffee, and it’s too warm outside for hot chocolate-”

Connor cuts him off. “You don’t have to justify your order to me, just tell me.”

“Right, yeah, chocolate milk. I want chocolate milk.”

Connor smiles crookedly at that, and before he walks aways, mutters, “adorable,” and Evan thinks that if someone else said that, it would sound like an insult, but from Connor, it has a warmth bubbling in his chest. He spots a small table in the corner and grabs it before anyone else can.

While Evan waits for Connor to bring their drinks, he worries (it’s kind of his resting state, after all). Sure, he and Connor have kind of figured out a rhythm when they’re in their room, chatting as they work or making fun of bad movies, but they’re in a coffee shop with nothing to do except talk now. What if Evan doesn’t have anything to say?

But then Connor brings over their drinks, Evan’s chocolate milk and Connor’s frothy pumpkin mocha thing, and Evan says without thinking, “I knew the edgy thing was just for show, but pumpkin mocha? Really?” And then they’re arguing about drink orders, and whether watching Grey’s Anatomy really makes Connor basic, and soon, an hour’s passed like seconds.

The sun is just starting to set as they walk back to their room.

“I think I should’ve followed your lead on the chocolate milk,” Connor says. “I’m going to be up all night. I guess that’s good for catching up on work, though.”

Evan doesn’t think twice when he suggests, “maybe next time we get coffee, we should go in the morning.” Like next time is a guarantee.

\----

Peter is setting up _Love, Simon_ in the Diversity Center of the lounge while the members of Spectrum grab snacks and find seats. There are a few other students Evan doesn’t recognize, this is a public event after all, but he counts it as a win that that doesn’t make him nervous. 

This is his place. These are his friends. Nothing can take that away from him.

By the time Connor has debated between getting Reese’s or Twizzlers and decided on getting both, there’s just one loveseat left, and they make their way to it together. Evan’s never had a real friend before, so he doesn’t know if it’s weird that this is so natural, that he waited while Connor picked out his candy and that they don’t need to speak to know to sit together.

“Have you seen this before?” Evan asks, sitting down. He’d watched it on the plane when he went to Colorado back in July to visit his father and meet Mathew, his baby half brother.

“I’m not really the rom-com type.”

“So you’ve watched it more than once then?” Evan teases.

He knows he’s right when Connor’s cheeks turn that deep red that covers up the sharpness in his face and makes him look so young. When the lights dim for the movie to start, Evan is slightly disappointed he can’t see it any more.

“Shut up,” Connor mumbles, but the light of the projector illuminates his smile.

The movie starts, and Evan realizes pretty quickly that his attention is split.

It’s just… The way Connor looks watching the movie, all his emotions etched clearly into his face, an openness that’s so unfamiliar there, and so completely breathtaking, Evan can’t look away. Without thinking about it, he finds himself shuffling closer, then again, like Connor’s a magnet he couldn’t pull away from if he wanted to, until they’re pressed together, arm to arm, thigh to thigh.

They’ve never been this close when one of them wasn’t high or having a breakdown. It’s nice, warm and comforting and solid, and Evan wants _more_. He tentatively leans into Connor’s side. 

Without taking his eyes from the screen, Connor reaches his arm around Evan’s shoulder and pulls him in closer.

Evan’s never had a real friend before, but settling into Connor’s arms, into this position that feels so _right_ , Evan thinks that maybe this isn’t what friendship feels like. This feels like something much much more.

Against his will, he feels his eyelids start to droop.

Connor whispers, breath warm against Evan’s ear, “I swear you never make it through a movie without falling asleep, do you?”

“It’s your fault,” Evan whispers back. “Too good of a pillow.”

Connor starts running his fingers through Evan’s hair, and it’s only minutes until he’s fully asleep.

The credits are rolling when Connor shakes him awake, and as they walk back to their room, Evan thinks that every bit of distance between them is too much. He slips into at least three fantasies of reaching out to twine his fingers with Connor’s, and he has to stop himself from doing it twice.

\----

Neither Connor, nor Evan are party people, yet here they both are, standing in the entryway to a frat house like it’s a perfectly normal way to spend their Friday night.

“Why don’t you look nervous?” Connor asks, observing Evan’s casual stance. “You’re always nervous, and _I’m_ nervous.”

Evan studies Connor’s face. “You have a calming presence. Also the pregaming. May have hit harder than anticipated.”

Daniel had invited all of Spectrum to this party claiming it was _a very progressive frat_ , and they’d all gathered in Violet’s room to play king’s cup and pregame, but Connor’s a certified delinquent, so his tolerance is pretty high, and he’s barely buzzed. Now that he really looks at Evan, though, he sees the effects.

Evan’s grinning ear to ear, and his skin is flushed.

“I can’t believe we’re only a month and a half into college, and you’re already drinking and getting high. All my illusions about the sweet, innocent Evan Hansen, shattered. Ruined. The last ten years of my life have been a lie.”

Usually everything about Evan is quiet, small, designed not to draw attention. Now, though, Evan laughs so loudly a few people at the party turn to look.

“Maybe you’re a bad influence,” he says.

“You’re the one who wanted to come to this party. I said, ‘I don’t know Daniel, frat parties aren’t really my thing,’ and then _you_ got those big, adorable puppy eyes, and said, ‘but Connor, isn’t college all about trying new things.’”

They’re still hovering a little awkwardly in the doorway, and as he speaks, Connor sees Daniel pushing through the crowd.

Evan seems to notice him at the same moment. “Talk about the Devil,” he says, then shakes his head. “No, that’s wrong. Speak of the Daniel!”

Connor ruffles his hair and laughs. “You _are_ drunk.”

Daniel reaches them, going in for hugs that are far too enthusiastic. Connor thinks maybe he’s the only one who _isn’t_ already drunk. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually come. This is great,” Daniel says. “There are drinks in the kitchen and stack cup in the dining room and music in the living room and people smoking on the porch. Where’s everyone else who was pregaming at Violet’s?”

Connor shrugs. “They spread out as soon as we got here.”

“Oh, well I’ll go find them and welcome them, but I’ll see you again.”

“So where to?” Connor asks, gesturing around the party. “You heard your options.”

Evan thinks, a look of intense focus coming over his face, before he declares, “drinks, then stack cup. If we’re going to go to a frat party, we’ve gotta commit.”

“You say that,” Connor laughs and pushes through the crowd toward the kitchen, making sure Evan’s not getting swallowed into the masses behind him, ‘But you haven’t actually tasted beer yet.”

After they’ve grabbed their drinks, they do play stack cup for a few rounds until Connor realizes that Evan does not have the right skill set for it, and is already too far gone to be losing so often.

As he leads him away, Evan mutters, “I got the bitch cup twice. How’s that fair.”

His forehead is scrunched like this is a very serious matter, and Connor thinks it might just be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

“Nothing unfair about it, you’re just bad at the game,” Connor jokes. Evan leans heavily against his side and smiles, but he doesn’t respond or anything. 

“You doing alright, there?” Connor asks.

Evan nods. “‘s not because I’m drunk. You’re just soft.”

“If you keep saying that, it’s going to really start hurting my self esteem.”

But really, Connor hopes Evan never stops saying it because it fills his chest with a warmth that he’s sometimes afraid is so powerful other people can see it. It makes him feel known, like when Miguel used to say he was innocent, but it’s also different coming from Evan because he _is_ soft and innocent, and if he sees that in Connor, then there really must be something there.

They go to find their other Spectrum friends, and after a bit of wandering, discover them on the back porch.

“Why is it the gay kids are always outside smoking?” Connor asks, settling on the floor, leaning against a railing. Evan follows him, and Connor’s not sure whether it’s intentional or whether Evan’s just too drunk to perceive distances when Evan ends up half sprawled in his lap.

“Pet my hair,” he demands, and Connor decides it’s the former.

“One second,” he says, pulling out a joint he rolled earlier and lighting it, then he starts running his nails across Evan’s scalp.

“Are you going to share?” Evan asks, flicking his eyes to the joint.

“I think maybe you’ve had enough for tonight.”

“Actually, I’ve had no weed tonight, so…” he raises an eyebrow like _I know my argument is solid, checkmate._

“Survey of the porch. Do we think Evan’s sober enough to share this weed with me?”

It’s a unanimous “no,” as Connor expected. Evan pouts, and Connor truly almost gives in anyway. Thirty more seconds and he would have, but then Evan shrugs it off and seems to get lost in the head scratching.

Violet keeps giving them curious looks as everyone is smoking and chatting, and Connor gets it. He knows what they look like, Evan resting against his chest, Connor stroking his hair with his free hand. They look like they’re together.

Connor’s pretty sure it’s a good look.

It’s Daniel who finally speaks up, though. He says, “I know I speak for all of us when I ask, what’s going on here? Is it a thing?”

Connor knows it absolutely does nothing to dispel their assumptions when Evan, with wide confused eyes, leans into Connor’s ear to whisper, “why are they looking at us? Do they mean ‘is _us_ a thing?’”

His breath is warm. Connor tries not to shiver. He does not quite succeed. “That _is_ what they’re asking,” he says out loud, so no one thinks Evan was whispering something secret or dirty to him.

Evan laughs and says, “I had a crush on his sister in high school,” like that’s an answer. Then, he turns to address Connor, and at the same volume adds, “But don’t worry, not anymore. You’re prettier.”

Connor’s pretty sure he’s red from head to toe. His face feels like it’s on fire. He wants very much for him and Evan to be sober and not surrounded by people, so he can find out what exactly that means, whether it’s just a general observation or something _more_.

“Thanks,” he says, voice coming out an octave too high.

Evan frowns. “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m pretty too?” he asks.

Everyone else on the porch bursts out laughing at that.

“Are they laughing with us or at us?” Evan asks.

“With you, for sure,” Daniel says, still in hysterics. “Well, Connor, aren’t you going to tell your boy he’s pretty.”

He sees that Evan is giving him puppy eyes.

“You are really fucking adorable, alright?” he says to Evan, which seems to do the trick as Evan closes his eyes and gives a satisfied smile, then to the group, “I think it’s maybe not _not_ a thing.”

It’s not long after that that Connor decides it’s time to head home. It’s nearly 1 AM, and Evan is starting to fall asleep. (Connor can tell because he keeps jerking himself awake).

It’s been a good night.

When they stumble back into their dorm, Evan doesn’t even wait for Connor to turn away before he’s pulling off his jeans and polo and replacing them with the pajamas he left on the end of his bed. Connor turns away anyway, and gets himself ready to sleep.

When he’s dressed, he says, “You need to brush your teeth or your mouth will taste like death tomorrow. And I’m going to get you some water, or you’ll end up with a dehydration headache.”

Connor grabs Evan’s water bottle from his nightstand and takes it to the fountain in the hallway because it’s too tall to fit in the sink in their room. When he returns, Evan is already in his bed. Connor shuts off the light and walks over to deliver the water.

“Drink some before you go to sleep,” Connor says, putting it in Evan’s hand rather than on the nightstand to drive home the point. He turns to go to his own bed, but Evan grabs his arm before he can.

“Cuddle me?” Evan asks, tugging at Connor’s arm. Over the last few weeks, Connor has learned he’s terrible at saying no to Evan when he has all his faculties about him, and now, sleepy and high and still reeling from Evan calling him _pretty_ , he couldn’t even try to deny him.

Not that he wants to.

“You want to be near the wall or the outside?” Connor asks, already climbing into the bed.

“Outside.”

Connor tries to climb over him without completely squishing him. It only kind of works, would probably work better if Evan were helping him in some way, but he doesn’t seem to mind being squished, at least.

When Connor’s finally in the right place, he opens his arms for Evan to settle into.

“You asked for a lot of things tonight,” Connor says. “It was nice. I wish you’d say what you want more when you’re sober.”

“I get scared,” Evan whispers.

“Yeah,” Connor says, then quieter, “Is this something you want when you’re sober, but you’re too scared to ask for?” He hugs Evan tighter for just a second to clarify what he means. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified to hear an answer in his life.

“The cuddling or us being a _thing_?” Evan asks, and as he nestles in further, buries his face in Connor’s neck, he says “Because it’s yes for both, I think.”

“That’s good, then,” Connor says, his heart pounding so hard he feels it in his throat. He wonders if Evan can feel it. 

Evan wants this, wants _him_.

He thinks they’re done talking, that Evan’s drifted off to sleep, but after almost fifteen minutes, Evan says, so quiet that Connor nearly doesn’t hear, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a bad one. So big even I’m not allowed to know.”

Connor’s not sure what that could possibly mean. How could Evan tell him a secret that he himself doesn’t know? But he just says, “that’s alright. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I just - I think you should know what you’re getting into with me, y’know? Have all the warning labels.”

He’s shaking, Connor realizes. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, “but you can if you want to.”

“I didn’t fall out of a tree and break my arm,” Evan says in one rush of breath, “Or I guess, I kind of did, but it wasn’t an accident.”

“What do you mean?” But Connor’s familiar enough with self destruction. He already knows.

“I let go. On purpose. Just for a second, but…”

A second’s all it takes.

“I’m really fucking glad it didn’t work,” Conner says.

“I think I am too.”

Neither Connor nor Evan fall asleep for a very long time after that, the confession hanging in the air between them, dark and out of place in the bubble of warmth they have between them.

\----

Evan is not hungover, but he doesn’t think he could feel worse if he was.

He replays the night in his mind, so close to perfect all the way through, albeit a little embarrassing at times. Then, the last five minutes.

Everything else makes so much sense, the alcohol loosening his lips and his inhibitions. But why would he say something that wasn’t true after he’d said so many true things. It doesn’t make sense.

He fell.

Evan Hansen climbed a tree and fell out of it and broke his arm.

It doesn’t make sense.

He needs to clear everything up. Maybe Connor will think he’s a compulsive liar or something, but it’s better than him thinking what he does now, something so terrible and so completely untrue.

“Connor,” Evan shakes him awake, not realizing how much he’s overreacting until Connor’s eyes are on him, still blinking the sleep from them, yet already filled with concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know why I said that last night? About the tree. And-and breaking my arm. I don’t know why I said that. I just- I just fell.”

\----

Connor didn’t understand what Evan meant last night when he said even he wasn’t allowed to know his own secret, but he gets it now. He’s never seen denial this intense (Connor fully admits to himself he crashed that car into a tree on purpose), but it’s clear that’s what it is.

“You need to breathe,” he says. “Do it with me.”

Evan does, gulping in deep, scared breaths in time with Connor’s.

When that, at least, is settled, Connor says, “It’s alright, you know. Either way. It’s alright because you’re okay now. You’re alive, and your arm is as good as new.”

Evan nods, tucks himself back against Connor’s chest. “I just fell.”

“Okay. That’s good, then,” Connor knows it’s not true, but if Evan’s not ready to acknowledge that, then he’s not ready. Connor’s not going to push. “Now go back to sleep. It’s Saturday.”

\----

A full 36 hours have passed with neither Evan nor Connor saying anything about potentially having feelings for the other, and Connor knows the ball is in his court. He knows Evan’s way too anxious to admit anything sober, and moreover, Evan already did admit he had feelings for Connor. It’s Connor’s turn.

He doesn’t know why he’s so afraid. It’s not like this is his first relationship. It isn’t even his first gay relationship. And he already knows Evan feels the same way. The stakes are literally nothing. So why do they feel so high?

He’s been trying to build up the courage for two days, but every time he looks at Evan, it feels like his heart stops, and his mouth goes dry, and he can’t make himself bring it up.

It’s Sunday evening, and they’ve been sitting on their own beds, silently doing their own things for five hours. Connor’s sketching. Evan’s a good student, so he’s probably doing homework, and usually, they would be chatting, at least a little, while they worked. Evan would be mentioning fun facts he was reading about, and Connor would be sharing memes he saw when he inevitably “took a break.”

The quiet is too much.

Connor doesn’t let himself look at Evan, so he won’t lose his nerve, and says, “Can we talk?”

“Oh. Of-of-of course.”

“It’s not a bad kind of talk. It’s good. I hope.” Connor crosses the room slowly, meeting Evan’s eyes only when he’s right in front of him.

“Yeah?” Evan asks, expression open, hopeful. God, he’s so good. Connor has no idea how Evan could possibly be into someone like him, but apparently he is.

“Yeah. You said the other night, when you were drunk, that, like, you wanted us to be _A Thing_ , and I guess…” Connor hates that he’s struggling so much to get through this, but he continues, “I guess I also want that. Want _you_.”

“Oh.”

Evan’s expression is unreadable.

“Is that a good ‘Oh?’”

And in an instant, it’s incredibly readable, a grin breaking across his features, lighting him up like the sun’s shining from inside him. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s a good ‘Oh.’”

Then, Connor realizes he’s going to have to reevaluate his stance on Evan’s courage because before Connor has time to process, Evan’s leaned in and his lips are on Connor’s, and there’s nothing tentative or gentle about it.

Connor loses track of the world for a bit after that, caught up in Evan’s lips, in the way they move so naturally against his, even though Connor knows that Evan doesn’t have much experience, in the way they part, slightly at first, then more. Evan’s hands are in his hair, because where else would they be, and Connor settles his around Evan’s waist, uses them to pull himself to him, so they’re pressed together, half on the bed, half standing.

His whole body is electric as he pulls away for air. 

“Wow,” he breathes, forehead against Evan’s.

“Yeah,” Evan agrees. Then, “So does this mean we’re dating? Are we together? Are we boyfriends? Is it too soon to call it that? Sorry, being _A Thing_ just felt too vague, and sorry, I know I’m ruining it.”

Connor shakes his head, still pressed against Evan’s. “Don’t apologize. You’re not ruining anything. I think I kind of like the idea of us being boyfriends. If that’s what you want?”

“It is.” Evan smiles softly.

“Then that’s what we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally don't have the patience for slow burn, so here, have your ship get together in chapter 2 instead. However, we all know that when the couple gets together early, it's far from smooth sailing.
> 
> These first two chapters were mostly written in a hyperfixation haze, so updates will definitely slow from here on out, especially because I'm two weeks behind with three weeks to go on schoolwork, and I have to find a way to start focusing on that, and more importantly, because I was convinced to re-subscribe to World of Warcraft, and I can't stop playing.
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments. I love hearing your random thoughts and theories more than anything else. (Also, next chapter is when it gets really freakin' angsty, so be prepared)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for character death, suicidal ideation, referenced self harm, unhealthy drinking, vomit, mild sexual content

Connor’s trying to study at the library because he kept getting distracted by Evan in their room, but it’s not going much better. It turns out the thought of Evan is nearly as distracting as the reality. The page where Connor’s supposed to be taking notes is currently half filled by a doodle of him.

**From Larry Murphy:** Are you with Evan?

It’s a text from Connor’s father, out of the blue and out of place. They’ve never talked about Evan. If Connor’s being honest, he didn’t expect his father to remember his roommate’s name at all.

**From Connor Murphy** : no. y?

**From Larry Murphy:** I’m with his mom. Could you go check on him?

Connor vaguely remembers his dad offering Evan’s mom an interview for a job on move-in day. Seems like she got it. 

For a second, he’s afraid that Evan’s told his mom that he and Connor are dating, and she’s told Connor’s dad, and now his family is going to be mad at him for keeping secrets, but then the second part of the text registers, and all he can think about is what Evan said about breaking his arm and about that letter in the computer lab all those months ago.

**From Connor Murphy** : omw back now. whats going on?

**From Larry Murphy** : call me?

Connor has not spoken to his father once since school started. It’s safer to stick to texts, give them both time to think through their responses. So this is bad.

“Dad?” he asks, skipping formalities. “What’s going on? Is something wrong with Evan?”

“Evan’s stepmother just called to let Heidi know that Evan’s father passed away this morning. She apparently already told Evan, and now Heidi can’t get in touch with him.”

“Oh my god.”

Connor and Evan have never talked about Evan’s father or his stepmother, but Connor feels rage prickling along his skin at the thought of the woman. How could she tell him something like that without making sure there was someone there for him when he found out? Doesn’t she know how sensitive he is?

“Yeah,” his dad agrees.

“What - what happened?”

“A car accident on his way to work.”

Connor stays on the line as he enters his building and waits for the elevator. “That’s awful. I’m almost back to our room.”

“Yeah,” his dad says, then, “You know I love you, Connor, right.”

It’s one of those things that’s gone unsaid for too long, but Connor gets why he’s saying it now. You never know when it’s your last chance. “I love you too, Dad. I’m at my door.”

He doesn’t let himself be afraid as he types in the combination for his and Evan’s room, doesn’t let himself think of what there is to be afraid of. For just a moment, he pictures Evan lying broken on the ground at Ellison Park with no one coming to find him, but he waves that thought away.

As soon as he lays eyes on Evan, alive and breathing and uninjured, Connor breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “He’s here. He’s alright, but I have to go.”

“I thought you were getting rid of that,” Connor says, sinking down on the carpet next to Evan. He’s holding the razor he took from Connor, grip uncertain, and Connor hates himself now for bringing it into the room, bringing it into Evan’s life.

Evan doesn’t hurt himself like Connor does (or did), Connor knows, so his intention must be a darker one than just pain.

Evan’s voice is hollow when he says, “I was afraid that if I threw it away, it would cut through the trash bag and hurt one of the janitors, so I kept it.”

“I’ll throw it away safely.”

Evan hands it over without argument, silent.

“I heard what happened,” Connor says. “Your mom is worried about you.”

“The day I broke my arm,” Evan says instead of acknowledging that, “My dad told me he was having a new baby.”

Connor’s realizing he’s only really known Evan for a month and a half. He knows nothing about Evan’s relationship with his father, didn’t even know he had a half sibling. So how’s he supposed to know how to respond to that.

  
Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Evan continues, “I just - I thought that he was replacing me. He left me because I was broken, and he was finally getting a shiny new son who wouldn’t be so afraid of t-ball that he threw up in the car on the way to the first game. But now he left Mathew too.”

A pause.

“We used to go camping in Ellison Park. He taught me to climb trees.”

Connor hears the cracks starting to spread through the numbness in Evan’s tone. The boy is shaking.

“And when he left, he promised - he promised that no matter what, he’d-he’d always be my-”

A sob rips out of Evan’s throat before he can finish, and it’s the worst thing Connor has ever heard, pure pain distilled into a raw, agonizing sound. Evan crumbles, falls against Connor’s chest and cries and cries and cries.

After an hour, when it seems like maybe Evan has run out of tears, he says he’s tired, and they move to Connor’s bed, but they don’t sleep, and it’s not long before Evan is crying again, gasping, shuddering sobs that echo in Connor’s ears even after they’ve stopped.

Connor has never experienced grief like this before, and watching Evan now, he doesn’t know if he would be able to survive it.

It’s hours before Evan wears himself out enough that he falls asleep, still sniffling. Connor stays awake much longer, thinking about the tree, about that razor, about Evan’s father driving to work like it was going to be a normal day. Thinking about how it would only take a second for him to lose one of the best things he’s ever had.

He wonders if this is how Miguel felt all the time being with him. Like he was tasked with the most important duty in the world, to protect this fragile person, and like it was simultaneously the highest honor and the most unbearable responsibility.

\----

Connor’s eyes are wide and worried looking into his, and Evan hates it, hates the way that pity serves as a reminder of all that’s been broken, all that’s been lost.

_ Nothing is different _ , he reminds himself. He hadn’t talked to his dad since August, and so, not talking to him now, it’s nothing new. It’s fine, is what it is.

“I’m fine. I swear,” Evan says, pressing his lips gently to Connor’s to punctuate the point, amazed still that he gets to do that. “Let’s just-let’s just study for the World Lit exam tomorrow.”

“You know you don’t have too…”   
  


“Yeah, but I’m fine, so I can. Like, my dad was barely a dad anyway. He’s not worth falling behind over. So. Flash cards.”

Evan holds them up between them, an end to the conversation. He starts quizzing Connor, and Connor doesn’t put up a fight, just answers the questions, then asks Evan a few until they’re both comfortable with the material.

  
There’s a pause for a second after Evan puts the study guide away, a silent moment of transition from one task to the next, an occurrence so natural Evan has never bothered to notice it before, but now it feels unbearable.

“Let’s go get dinner. It feels like a dining hall night,” Evan says, already pulling on his jacket, and leaving no room for Connor to argue. He talks the whole way there, rambles really, about anything that comes to mind, his homework, and the last episode of  _ Riverdale _ they watched together and the Halloween party this weekend that Daniel’s already invited them to. Every time quiet creeps into his pauses for breath, Evan feels the world start to press in on him, so he tries to breathe as quickly as possible, which is kind of making him lightheaded.

The dining hall, when they get there, is as overwhelming as usual, but today, Evan welcomes it. There’s nothing like worrying about whether he should ask the worker for a California Roll or just accept an already-prepared Salmon Roll to keep his mind busy. That’s at least ten minutes of distraction, right there.

By the time he and Connor have finished eating (Evan insisted they eat in the dining hall instead of bringing the food back to their room), Evan’s head is spinning, and he feels a little sick and a little like he’s floating a half centimeter above his body instead of sitting in it, but someone outside their body can’t think, so he doesn’t mind.

Sure, just four hours ago, Evan was digging through his desk drawer to find the razor he’d taken from Connor. Sure, he’d held it over his wrists like a dare. But Evan’s a coward. He never would’ve made the cut, just like he never would’ve let go of that tree on purpose.

And now, he’s here, and he’s alright, and nothing has to change just because some guy who left Evan when he was only 7 years old died this morning.

And if he doesn’t think, he can believe that.

“ _ Riverdale _ ?” he asks when they’re back in the dorm, and as Connor turns on his computer, Evan puts on his pajamas, and when Evan finally falls asleep, five hours later, it’s with trashy teen drama loud enough in his ears to drown out everything else.

\----

Connor hasn’t read a rulebook on grief or anything, but he thinks it’s probably not the best idea to be going to a Halloween frat party three days after your dad dies. Just, like, a guess.

Yet here he and Evan are, and Connor is wearing a fluffy wig that Kat, for some reason, already had on hand and holding a paint palette, and Evan is dressed like a tree.

“What are you guys supposed to be?” Daniel asks, already guiding them to the drinks.

“It’s a couples costume!” Evan declares. He was the one to come up with it, or at least, find the suggestion on a quick google search. “Bob Ross and a happy little tree!”

“I see it now, and that’s fucking incredible.”

“I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since I was ten,” Connor says. He’d gone as a vampire because it was the lowest effort he could put in and still get candy.

“And what a fun way you’ve returned to the festive spirit,” Daniel responds. 

Connor watches Evan pour himself what looks like three standard drinks of vodka and cover it with Sprite, so he just gets himself some orange juice. He’s not going to stop Evan; he knows a thing or two about numbing, and if that’s what Evan thinks he needs, Connor’s not going to get in his way.

If anyone deserves to forget their problems, it’s him. (Though, Connor thinks, Evan’s been doing an incredible job of trying to forget his problems for days).

But Connor will be sober to keep an eye on him in case the numbing fails (it was always Connor’s biggest qualm with alcohol - that it seemed to intensify his feelings as often as it erased them).

“A shot?” Evan suggests. “Then we dance!”   
  


“No shot for me,” Connor says as Daniel starts up a chant of “Shots! Shots! Shots!” that draws in a small crowd. Evan doesn’t even wince as he takes his.

The music is so loud Connor would think that Evan would be nervous, the type of loud that Connor would put on in his room when he lived at home to try and drown out everything else - the fighting, his own thoughts, but Evan just grins as they enter the makeshift dance floor in the living room and says, “perfect!”

Evan’s exactly as bad of a dancer as Connor would expect, feet planted side by side on the ground, arms waving and head bopping out of time with the music, and he sings along only to the choruses. It’s adorable, and maybe a little enchanting. Connor can’t look away.

They dance together long enough that Connor loses track of time, sometimes the two of them moving separately in the same space, sometimes in a little circle of Spectrum kids, and sometimes, as the alcohol seems to hit Evan more and more, with hands grasped together, spinning each other and bouncing up and down.

When they finally leave the dance floor, Connor is sweaty and out of breath, and Evan’s skin is flushed.

  
“My drink is empty,” Evan announces. “Let’s go for refills!”

“Maybe a water break, first,” Connor suggests, “I’m thirsty, so you must be.”

Evan rolls his eyes, but follows Connor to the kitchen. “Alright,  _ dad _ ,” he jokes, then freezes, like the words have caught up to him and his brain is trying to decide whether to move on like it doesn’t matter or break down. After a second, he starts moving again, the forced grin on his face almost convincing if Connor hadn’t seen the real one just seconds before. “One glass of water, then another shot.”

They stay, dancing and playing drinking games and hanging out until the party’s died down nearly completely, and Daniel approaches where they’ve settled into the couch.

“Not that I don’t love your company,” he says, “but it’s 3 AM. You should probably be getting home. Or if you’re too drunk for that, pass out in my room upstairs.”

Evan glares at him, but he doesn’t have a face suited for anger, and it comes out looking like when you tell a toddler they have to go to bed. “I deserve to stay out drinking until 3 AM,” he says petulantly. “My dad died on Tuesday.”

Daniel slumps down to join them on the couch. “Shit, dude. I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“I am great and awesome and fine, because he was a terrible dad, and I don’t actually need him.”

“For the record,” Connor adds, “I am entirely sober and monitoring the situation.” He may be a shitty person in general, but he’s not a bad boyfriend, at least not yet, and he needs someone else to know that - that, yeah, he let Evan come to a party and get wasted just after his dad died, but in like a healthy, cathartic kind of way with full supervision.

On the other hand, maybe Connor shouldn’t be enabling anyone trying to use his coping mechanisms. He’s almost died three times, and been to rehab once (and a half if you count the wilderness retreat). Maybe he  _ is _ a shitty boyfriend.

“He’s the best boyfriend ever,” Evan says like he can somehow read Connor’s mind or know his thoughts. “And we haven’t even done the sexy stuff yet, so it’s only up from here.”

Connor feels his face heat, and he studies his hands very carefully. Even though he painted his nails this afternoon, the polish on his right pointer finger and thumb are chipped.

Daniel barks a laugh. “You got together two weeks ago, so that’s pretty fair.”

“I would like to do the sexy stuff!” Evan declares, and Connor did not think he could get more mortified, yet here he is. He figured with Evan’s inexperience, he would want to take things slow.

Connor and Miguel never had taken it slow. He’d gotten a blowjob the first time they kissed because, really, horny teenagers are horny teenagers. Thinking about it now, he guesses Evan probably falls into that category as well.

Something to think about when Evan’s not drunk.

“Well no sexy stuff tonight,” Connor says. “You’re wasted.”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees. “Also sleepy. Let’s go home.”

“You got him?” Daniel asks, which is kind of funny because really, he’s only the slightest bit more sober than Evan, but it’s a nice gesture.

“Yeah, we’re good. Thanks for inviting us to the party.”

“You’re always welcome at Delta Epsilon Eta.”

They walk back, but the cool night air does nothing to sober Evan, and when they finally fall into Connor’s bed after all the bedtime rituals Connor makes sure Evan doesn’t skip, it’s nearly 3:45 in the morning.

“I think maybe I’m not great and awesome and fine,” Evan murmurs against Connor’s neck. “I miss my dad even though he was awful, and if I think, I’m sad, and I can’t be sad all the time, so I can just never think.”

Before Connor’s formulated a response, though, Evan’s fallen asleep.

\----

Evan loves dating Connor. He loves cuddling and watching movies and carding his fingers through his hair. He likes walking to class holding hands. He likes talking to him and not talking to him, just existing in the same space together.

He thinks he would like it even better if the kisses ever led to more. If the bed was for something other than watching Netflix. They’ve been dating for three weeks, and they haven’t even made out.

Evan knows Connor has experience, but he’s not  _ using it _ .

If you did a general survey of all the people in Evan’s life and asked them what his most prominent characteristic was, the unanimous reply would be his nervousness, his anxiety (which, rude, by the way, he thinks, to define someone by their mental illness), but he’s not nervous around Connor anymore, so he decides, he’s going to take matters into his own hands.   
  


So while they’re side by side on Connor’s bed (Evan’s has been neatly made and completely unused for days) watching  _ Riverdale _ , Evan leans over as smoothly as he can manage and shuts the computer. He puts it on the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Connor asks, voice soft and low, like he already knows.

  
Evan doesn’t answer, just leans in to kiss him, setting one hand against Connor’s neck and wrapping the other around his back to pull him in closer. He sucks gently at Connor’s bottom lip, then trails his tongue along it. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he’s letting instinct guide him, and it seems to be working. Connor opens his mouth, and Evan feels his tongue slide against his own.

He feels like he’s on fire in the best way possible.

“Is this- are you okay with this?” Connor asks, pulling away.

“I started it. I should be asking you.”

“I’m very okay with this.”

Evan leans back in as his own answer, connecting their mouths and letting his tongue find its way into Connor’s mouth.

After that, it’s easy, just doing what feels good, mirroring Connor when he’s not sure. At one point, Evan breaks away to breathe, and Connor shifts his attention to Evan’s neck, kissing along the column of his throat. He can’t control the moan that he lets out at the sensation.

“Fuck,” Connor murmers, voice husky, and he grinds his hips down against Evan’s.

“Oh my God,” Evan breathes, finding Connor’s mouth again.

“Still okay?” Connor asks before he lets Evan kiss him.

“Only if you do that again. And also take off your shirt maybe.”

Connor laughs, but he obliges, sitting up and pulling his sweatshirt and t-shirt over his head in one motion.

Connor is always pale, but the skin of his chest is practically translucent, and it makes Evan feel like the most important person in the world, like he’s seeing this part of Connor that even the sun doesn’t get to see. He runs his hands over Connor’s shoulders, down his back, up his stomach, pausing for a second at the nipples as an idea forms.

He looks into Connor’s eyes for half a second, and then he licks over one with the flat of his tongue. Connor’s breath catches on a whine.

It goes straight to the heat pooling in Evan’s belly.

This is the best thing ever.

He licks across the other one, reveling in the sound Connor makes, then he pulls it between his lips.

“Who the fuck taught you to do that?” Connor groans.

“Just tried something and got lucky.”

“Hah,  _ got lucky _ , there’s a joke in there somewhere. I’m sure I could think of it if all my blood wasn’t in my dick.”

Evan can admit he’s incredibly proud of how smooth it is when he says, “You want me to do something about that?”

Connor just stares at him for five full seconds, speechless before declaring, “You’re going to kill me. What did you have in mind?”

Evan’s thoughts hadn’t even made it that far, but now that they have, he has so many things running through his mind that he doesn’t know how he could possibly choose.

Though, he decides, he’ll have time to try them all.

\----

As the days go on, Evan doesn’t have to try so hard not to think about his father. His life doesn’t change. He goes to his classes, does his homework, kisses Connor (and does more than kissing with Connor), attends Spectrum meetings, and whether or not his father is off doing whatever an accountant does in Colorado is a nonissue because, here, everything is fine.

So what if he’s cancelled on Dr. Sherman twice. It’s not like he really has anything to talk to her about.

So what if he’s still ignoring his mom’s calls, the thought of talking to her making bile rise in his throat.

So what if when he tried to write an essay for his freshman English class, he couldn’t make a single word form on the page, and ended up not turning in anything at all.

That’s just normal depression stuff. Evan was due for it, really. And he’s still eating and showering and going to class, so all in all, it’s really not that bad. He’s coping remarkably well because, really, there’s nothing out of the ordinary to cope with.

\----

Evan is not coping, and Connor doesn’t know what to do to help him. He doesn’t want to push, because what if that breaks him, but Evan’s not talking to his mother, and he’s not going to therapy, and when he says he’s studying, Connor sees him just staring at the back of his desk for hours at a time.

They’ve only been together for three weeks. Connor doesn’t even know Evan’s step-sisters’ names. So how’s he supposed to know what to do here?

So far he’s just been going along with it, accepting Evan’s insistence that  _ everything’s fine _ and  _ nothing’s changed _ , but what’s that going to do when Evan realizes that everything’s  _ not _ fine, and a lot  _ has _ changed.

Evan rushes into the room, all energy lately, and folds himself into Connor’s arms. This closeness, at least, is a good change.

“I hate daylight savings,” he murmurs into Connor’s chest. “Look, the sun’s already setting, and we haven’t even had dinner.”

“Darkest time of year, physically and metaphorically.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice solemn before he says with a joy that sounds practiced, “so, Spectrum kids drinking in Hannah’s room tonight. Are we in?”

Even when he and Miguel were together, Connor was never part of a  _ we _ . Their relationship had always been more private, a thing that existed in empty houses and behind closed doors, not out of shame, though Connor sometimes wondered if Miguel _ was _ ashamed of him, but out of protection. No one can break what they can’t see.

“Yeah, if you want to go, I’m in.”

They get dinner at the cafe closest to their dorm, and they eat their food there, chatting at a table in the back. It’s nice to see Evan at ease somewhere he used to be so afraid. Proof that things can change, can get better.

By the time they leave, it’s already 7:20.

“I-Do you think-I don’t want to be late to Hannah’s,” Evan says as they turn towards their dorm. “She said they were starting at 7:30, and if-if we go back to the dorm first, we’re gonna be late.”

Hearing Evan stammer and stutter is nice, in a weird way, because it reminds Connor that he’s not like that when it’s just the two of them, that he’s so comfortable when they’re together that he isn’t afraid.

For years, all anyone’s felt around Connor is fear, his classmates, his teachers, his own family. And really, he deserved it. He feels, acts, and regrets, and everyone present for the acting is at risk. He’d hurt Zoe once, when she was thirteen, a piece of glass from a vase that he’d shattered in a fit of emotion cutting her foot so deep she needed stitches.

He’d cut his own in the same spot, scoring lines across his heel so that it hurt to walk for weeks. But it never mattered. The regret never undid the hurting.

But now, Evan’s not afraid, and maybe that means Connor’s not someone to be afraid of anymore.

“Do you have everything you need? We can just go right there,” Connor says, knowing that’s what Evan was hoping for.

“Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

Even though they’re still five minutes late, Connor and Evan are the first people to arrive at Hannah's room. She opens the door with a grin.

“Can you believe no one’s here yet? I guess that’s the nature of a queer gathering: everyone wants to be fashionably late.”

She has a single, but it’s almost as big as Connor and Evan’s room, so there’s a full half of the room set up with a couch and TV. The entire surface of her desk is covered with different types of alcohol.

“I’ve got vodka, strawberry vodka, sweet tea vodka, rum, tequila, and white claw. If you want an actual mixer, you have to wait until Daniel gets here.”

“Aren’t you southern?” Connor asks. “Isn’t sweet tea vodka, like, an affront on your people?”

“Yeah, but it’s delicious, especially mixed with lemonade. So delicious Daniel can’t drink it at all anymore because when we discovered it last year, he drank so much, he threw up in the bushes outside Violet’s apartment, and now the taste makes him sick.”

“That sounds like the drink for me, then,” Evan says. “But until the lemonade arrives, I feel like white claw and strawberry vodka might go well together.”

“Yeah, alright,” Connor says, “I’ll have that too.”

Hannah mixes the drinks and hands them over, and as she does, Daniel arrives, followed shortly by Kat and Violet. Liam, a junior, arrives next, then Steph, another freshman who joined a few weeks after Evan and Connor.

Evan had pointed out when she did that Peter hadn’t introduced himself to her like he had to the two of them, and Connor had assured him that he was just overthinking it, though he did wonder whether there was something about him and Evan that screamed “we are mentally ill and in need of adult intervention.”

“Well, we’ll see if anyone else trickles in, but this is enough to get started!” Hannah announces. “So, kings cup.”

They set up, and it goes smoothly until Steph pulls a five, and they have to do  _ never have I ever _ .

Steph starts it off. “Never have I ever broken a bone.”

As Connor puts his finger down, he glances over to make sure Evan’s okay, but Evan just laughs, claps, and puts his fingers down like the bone he broke  _ wasn’t _ in a failed suicide attempt (though, Connor supposes, he doesn’t even realize it was).

It passes to Hannah who declares, “Never have I ever had sex in a public place.”

Daniel’s the only one who claps, and it passes to Kat. “Never have I ever had sex at all.”

Connor watches Evan turn bright red and ask, “What-how, like, how do you define  _ sex _ ?”

If that wasn’t awkward and revealing enough, Daniel, clearly remembering the same Halloween conversation that’s playing through Connor’s head, gives Evan and Connor both congratulatory pats on the back.

“You know that question really narrows down the options for how far you’ve gone, and I’m proud of you boys for finally getting to the, how did you say it Evan,  _ the sexy stuff _ .”

Connor shoves him, hoping it comes across as playful and not mean. “The more important question is why do you care?”

“I’m just rooting for you. So Kat, please elaborate on what counts as sex.”

Kat rolls their eyes. “Well I haven’t done it, how am I supposed to know?”

“Let’s just say third base and beyond,” Violet decides for everyone.

“What’s third base?” Evan asks, and inside Connor, the desire for this conversation to end is warring the pleasant warmth he gets from knowing he has friends close enough to tease him about his sex life.

“Just clap,” Connor says. Evan claps and puts his finger down, and the room cheers.

“I hate you all,” Connor declares, but he’s smiling.

No one is surprised when after a few rounds, it comes down to Daniel and Connor with only one finger each left. (Evan’s still at three).

It’s Liam’s turn. “Never have I ever done a drug harder than weed.”

Connor is the only one to clap. It kind of sucks, but before he has time to reflect on it, a shot glass is being pressed into his hand.

“House rules, loser of never have I ever takes a shot,” Daniel says.

“But only if you want to,” Violet adds. “No peer pressure here.”

“What the hell, I’m already the most degenerate one here. What’s one shot going to do?”

But it turns out, that’s a slippery slope. Because there are four fives in a deck, and Connor loses every single one (the last one is a cheap shot. Hannah used “never have I ever dated my roommate”).

He also, because the universe hates him, pulls the last king, and has to chug the gross concoction of mixed alcohols in the middle.

He is also, it so happens, incredibly susceptible to suggestion. Every time his cup is empty, he refills it with another drink of sweet tea vodka and lemonade, and by the third, he’s no longer measuring to make sure each is exactly a standard drink. Every time someone suggests a shot, Connor joins in.

Before an hour has passed, he’s already lost the sense to be keeping an eye on Evan. In fact, he’s kind of enjoying taking shots together and pouring him mixed drinks. It’s a party. They’re having fun together. This is what normal college boyfriends do.

Connor’s been dancing with Violet and Kat for what could be literally any amount of time, but all the movement’s starting to make him dizzy, and he misses Evan, which, yeah, maybe that’s a little sad that being ten feet from his boyfriend feels like too much distance, or maybe it’s adorable.

He stumbles across the room to wrap his arms around Evan from behind and rest his chin on Evan’s shoulder, but Evan barely acknowledges him, caught up in some kind of debate with Daniel. Connor fades in and out of paying attention, trying to focus on a light through the window and keep it from swaying. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about something philosophical.

He only zones back in because Evan starts to tense, and Connor hears his argument for the first time. “It’s like this,” he says. “Life is like - is like climbing a tree. You keep reaching up, going further, branch after branch, and maybe you get to the top. Maybe you see the sky and the forest underneath you stretching in all directions, and for just a second it’s beautiful, or even a bunch of seconds, but it doesn’t matter really, because you still fall. At some point you always have to fall because gravity wins no matter what. Life maybe gets better, yeah, but it always gets bad again too.”

“Ev…” Connor whispers.

“No, it’s-I’m right,” Evan’s voice is shaking, and Connor knows it’s about to get very bad, but the room is also spinning around him at an alarming rate, and his stomach lurches. “I know because I’ve fallen out of a tree, and life’s exactly like that. Like just take college for example. I’m here, and it’s good, and we’re together, and just one week later, my dad dies.”

Connor needs to be here with Evan who’s starting to cry, but instead he’s mumbling to Daniel, “Help him please. I’ll be back.” and running from the room.

In the hallway, he comes to the sickening realization that this is not his dorm, and he doesn’t know where the bathroom is, and he doesn’t fucking have time to find one. He zeroes in on a trashcan at the end of the hallway and makes a run for it, getting the lid off in just enough time to vomit into it.

His stomach keeps convulsing until he’s thrown up three times and his eyes are watering, and he just wants to sit down, but he’s not sure he’s done throwing up.

“Are you done?” Violet asks, and he didn’t notice she’d followed him out.

“Don’t think so,” he says. He doesn’t want to check, but he’s pretty sure there’s puke on his sweatshirt.

“Want to move to the bathroom?”

He nods, and Violet guides him right across the hall to a gender neutral bathroom where he barely makes it to a stall before throwing up again. This time, at least, he can sink to the floor and rest his head on a toilet seat and wipe his mouth with toilet paper. Violet settles next to him.

“Maybe we should get rid of the ‘never have I ever loser takes a shot’ rule,’” she says.

“It’s not the rule’s fault,” Connor says, feeling weak and drained and somehow, still nauseous even though there can’t possibly be anything left in his stomach. “It’s my fault. I’m a fuckup. It’s what I do. I threw a printer at my teacher in second grade. I’ve been to rehab.”

“Shit, should we not be offering you alcohol? I’m sorry.”

“I’m not an addict. My parents just overreacted.”

“Pretty sure that’s what an addict would say.”

“Yeah, but in my case, it’s true. I don’t even usually drink. I just wanted to be normal for one fucking night.”

He feels the emotions bubbling, the desire to break something or yell or cry. His wrists are itching, and he wants to scratch them open, but there are no cuts or scabs there, just long healed scars, so the best it would do is sting, and that’s not enough. There’s no relief in that.

There’s no justice in that. He deserves to suffer. His boyfriend, Evan, the sweetest person Connor’s ever met, is crying just down the hallway because of his actual real problems, and Connor’s just a disaster attention seeker who can’t control himself.

“Hey, what’s happening?” Violet asks gently.

“Like you even care,” Connor hisses, like someone else is in control of him, like the cruel thing that lives in his gut has crawled up to take the reigns, though maybe they’re one in the same. “Just fuck off and leave me alone.”

But his voice breaks on the last word, the venom draining as quickly as it came. Alone. Alone. Alone. He doesn’t want to be alone.

He pulls at his hair, but Violet takes his hands in hers to stop him, and that’s - he needs - it just hurts, existing all the time hurts, and he needs to release it. He truly doesn’t know what sound’s going to come out of his mouth until he hears the sob.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m the worst, and you don’t need to be taking care of me when I should’ve just taken care of myself and taken care of Evan, and just - and just been better.”

“Hey, you’re alright,” she insists. “It’s practically a freshman rite of passage to drunk cry in some random dorm’s bathroom, and it’s a senior rite of passage to help the drunk freshman.”

It takes too long for Connor to calm down, and he throws up once more before he does, but finally his breathing starts to even, and his thoughts start to settle, and then he rinses his mouth with water, removes the hoodie, which he discovers does have puke on it, and returns to Hannah’s room. He needs to be with Evan, though he couldn’t tell you whether it’s for his own comfort or Evan’s.

Evan seems, honestly, in better shape than Connor feels.

“You’re back,” he says. “Are you okay? I wanted to help you, but I’m a sympathetic vomiter.”

Connor settles against his side and lets Evan wrap his arm around him. “Are  _ you  _ okay? You seemed not good before.”

“Oh, right,” Evan says. “I got distracted from that when you ran out of the room. I’ve just been worried about you.”

  
  
Connor loves Evan. It’s too soon, and it’s too much, but everything Connor feels is too soon and too much, and there’s no reason this would be an exception.

“Sorry I worried you.”

“It’s okay. Violet was texting me updates, so I knew you’d be fine. Are you fine?”   
  


“I’m done throwing up.”

“So otherwise not great, then?” Evan asks, and god, how can he understand Connor so well that he even understands what he  _ doesn’t _ say.

Connor shrugs, gives a wry smile. “Never really am, right? But what about you?”

“Well I realized I  _ am _ sad about my dad, but I’ve decided to put that sadness off for now, so, like, I’m probably okay.”

“Never really great and probably okay, what a pair,” Connor says, and Evan laughs.

“It works though.”

“Yeah,” Connor agrees.

They walk back to their dorm, and Connor showers away the smell of vomit and strawberry vodka, and as they do every night, they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

\----

"Hypothetically,” Evan asks, “when do you consider it appropriate to start listening to Christmas music?" Connor’s at his desk working on an assignment, but Evan can’t focus.

“Not yet,” Connor deadpans.

“But if your super cool boyfriend wanted to, you’d make an exception,” Evan suggests.

  
Connor is trying to keep his expression blank, Evan can tell, but a smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know,” he says. “What’s in it for me?”

“Other than the unbridled joy of the Christmas spirit?”

“Aren’t you Jewish?”

“We celebrate Christmas on my dad’s side. And anyway,  _ Holly Jolly Christmas _ has no religion.”

Evan moves across the room so he’s standing behind Connor’s chair and scratches gently over his scalp. “Just one song, and if it doesn't make you want to decorate a Christmas tree and have a snowball fight and drink hot cocoa, I’ll leave you to your homework.” He runs his fingers along the base of Connor’s skull.

“Let the record show that I know you’re playing dirty.” Connor leans into Evan’s hand.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Evan starts the playlist he’s been working on since Halloween, and almost as soon as it begins, he feels better. “Do you hear those bells? Pure serotonin."

“Is that Taylor Swift?”

Instead of answering (it is Taylor Swift), Evan pulls Connor from his chair and tries to make him spin. Connor rolls his eyes, but he twirls under Evan’s arm and raises his own for Evan to do the same. Connor’s definitely more graceful than Evan, and Evan wonders absently whether it’s natural talent or if he took some kind of class. Either way, he doesn’t seem to mind that Evan can barely avoid tripping over his own feet.

One song ends and the next begins, and they keep dancing, Connor eventually joining in singing along, and it feels light, easy, natural like few things ever are. Soon Connor’s grinning and flushed, and when the final song on Evan’s Christmas playlist ends, Evan’s instincts pull him right into Connor’s arms.

In the joy of the moment, all Evan wants is to be close to Connor. As close as possible, so they can experience it together. Like every centimeter nearer they are magnifies the happiness a thousand times.

_ Is this what love feels like _ , Evan wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know how I'm getting these chapters out so fast, or how they manage to be so long. I usually struggle so much with having enough content to get 2k word chapters and here I am, writing 6k-7k word chapters. I just love Connor and Evan so much!
> 
> I've realized that I keep making recent pop culture references (Euphoria for one), so let's pretend this fic is happening in an alternate 2019-2020 school year where coronavirus never happens.  
> Also, I'm so used to fandoms where sexual content in stories is just expected, and I'm not a smut writer even a little bit, so I do feel kind of weird about even the limited "sex scene" here because this fandom tends to be so innocent. But, like, I had Evan Hansen get high in chapter one, so maybe I've thrown innocent out the window.
> 
> As usual, let me know what you think!!!! Also, when is an appropriate time to start listening to Christmas music. I've already started.
> 
> (Also, next chapter is Thanksgiving, and I'm more excited for it than for real Thanksgiving)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dissociation, panic attacks, grief, allusion to alcoholism, drug use, suicidal ideation, reference to past suicide attempt

Evan’s mom texted him this morning to let him know she was on her way to pick him and Connor up. Apparently, she and the Murphys decided this was easiest, to avoid both families having to make the trip. Apparently, she and the Murphys  _ talk. _

He knew this was coming - the going home thing. He hadn’t discussed it with her, hasn’t spoken to her in almost a month actually, but it’s Thanksgiving. There’s no reason he  _ wouldn’t _ go home.

Except he doesn’t want to. The thought of seeing his mom fills his stomach with this roiling anxiety and rage, and he just wants to stay in this dorm room for the next five days, even if he’s alone, and  _ not deal with any of it _ . He stares at the back of his desk while Connor packs for the weekend and wills himself to be okay.

  
So what, he’s going home. It’s his home. It’ll be fine.

“Hey, Ev?” Connor asks. This nickname is new, but every time Evan hears it, it makes him feel warm, safe,  _ known _ . No one’s ever cared enough to give him a nickname before (other than his actual name, which he guesses, technically is a nickname). But now, it barely registers. “Earth to Evan.”

“Hmmm?”

“My dad just texted to let me know your mom is picking us both up this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees. He’s not sure what else there is to say to that. He thinks maybe he would know what Connor was getting at if it wasn’t taking so much of his brain power to just  _ be alright _ . 

“Did your mom tell you?”

“Yeah.”

“And have you talked to her recently?”

Evan feels Connor’s hands on his shoulders, but distantly, like he’s half asleep or maybe like it’s actually only happening in a dream. 

“You don’t talk to your parents,” he hears himself say. It sounds defensive.

“I don’t  _ like  _ my parents.”

Evan doesn’t respond.  _ Does  _ he like his mom? It doesn’t feel like it right now. It feels like he hates her, but that can’t be true. She’s done so much for him.

She stayed.

Or maybe she made him stay.

He’d heard his parents arguing just before his dad left. He’d said, “Evan can come stay with me and Theresa, you know. Or spend summers with us.”

And his mom had said, “We both know Evan couldn’t deal with change like that.”

And all those vacations his dad had suggested he visit. “Do you really think Evan can take a four hour plane ride by himself? You know I can’t get the time off work.”

Maybe he could have handled it. Maybe it would’ve been worth the hours of terror to see his dad more than once a year. She should’ve let him at least try, should have made him try, so he wouldn’t feel like this now.

Like he didn’t get enough time.

Like he’s not even sure if he’s allowed to be sad.

Like he lost someone he barely even knew anymore.

Though he’s not sure he’s feeling any of that in this particular moment. It’s funny, he thinks, that he’s been working all month to feel numb, but now, he’s done it on accident.

“Evaaaan?” Connor asks, sing-songy like he’s been trying to get Evan’s attention for a while. “Are you here with me?”

“I’m, like, 60% here with you.” It’s more like 30%, but Evan’s pretty sure if he gives a number below 50, Connor will be concerned. He might already be concerned. Evan’s not present enough to tell.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

So already concerned then.

“Maybe not.”

“Let’s go for a walk.” It seems like Connor’s suggestion comes out of nowhere, but maybe there’s some context Evan just can’t discern right now.

  
“Okay.”

The moment he steps outside, sans jacket, Evan feels a part of himself snap back into place, the cold grounding him somehow.

“It’s freezing,” he says.

Connor laughs. “It’s almost winter.”

“I didn’t bring a coat.”

“I brought you one.” He holds Evan’s jacket out for him. It’s just a jacket, he knows, but it feels like the nicest thing someone has ever done for Evan. To think of him, and his comfort, so casually like that.

  
“You’re the best.” That’s not what he wants to say, but it’s too soon, he thinks, to say what’s really running through his mind.

Evan pulls on the coat, zips it all the way up, and they start walking, hand in hand. Evan never used to get it, couples who always seemed to be attached to each other, holding hands, or tucked under the arm, or pressed side by side, but it makes sense now. He feels safer when he’s connected to Connor.

“So it seems like you’re not feeling great about going home for the holidays?” Connor asks. Just thinking about answering makes Evan’s pulse race and hands sweat.

“Are you?” He deflects. “You don’t even like your parents.”

Connor shrugs. “Yeah, I don’t know. I thought I’d be more worried, but I’m not really. I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” He knows he should be happy for Connor, but it stings a little that he’s okay while Evan is very much  _ not _ . Makes him feel broken.

“You know it’s okay, though? That you’re not fine. You have a lot of reasons not to be fine.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Evan’s not sure that’s exactly true, but he knows he  _ can’t  _ talk about it. It’s too much. He’s already broken, sure, but if he lets himself feel all the things pushing against him from the inside, he’s not sure he’ll ever be whole again.

“Okay,” Connor says, but he draws out the “a” like it’s really not okay, and he’s just saying it is. Or maybe Evan’s reading too much into it.

“We should go back. I still need to pack.”

They walk back to their room in silence, and Evan thinks it feels tense, but Connor still throws himself onto Evan’s bed instead of his own and talks idly while Evan packs, and when Evan’s done, they make out for twenty minutes, so Evan figures, he was probably wrong about the silence being tense.

It’s just after 2 PM when Evan gets a text from his mom that she’s outside his building. He freezes, but it seems Connor got the same text. 

“Ev, are you ready to go?” he asks, propping himself on his elbow. They’ve both been lounging on Evan’s bed and watching  _ The Year Without a Santa Claus. _ It’s Evan’s favorite Christmas movie, and Connor had never seen it.

Evan is  _ not  _ ready to go.

“My mom just texted that your mom is outside.”

“Yeah,” Evan tries to say, but it comes out as a gasp for air. He can’t spend five days with his mom. He can’t face her at all. He can’t. He can’t.

He can’t.

“And you are panicking.”

Evan can’t even respond his assent to that. He can’t face his mom. What if she wants him to talk about how he’s feeling. He can’t do that? And even if she doesn’t, how’s he supposed to go home to her knowing home is somehow more fractured than ever? Knowing he won’t call his father like usual to wish him a happy Thanksgiving or make plans for the Christmas visit they were intending on.

How’s he supposed to face her when she kept Evan from his father?

How’s he supposed to face anything again for the rest of his life knowing he’ll never see his father again?

The strings holding Evan up are starting to snap.

“Hi, Mrs. Hansen,” Evan hears Connor say. “We’ll be down in, like, ten minutes. I’m so forgetful, I still need to pack.”

Evan’s curled into a ball on the bed, and Connor has curled himself around him, and if he doesn’t move, he feels safe, but he knows he has to get up, and so he can’t catch his breath.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

“Just breathe with me, Evan,” Connor says. “Just match your breaths to mine.”

Evan tries, and usually this kind of thing helps, but right now he can’t. He can’t breathe when his mom is waiting downstairs to remind him that his dad is dead and he’s never going to see him or talk to him again. That they’re never going to hike the Appalachian Trail, or any trail at all. That the Thanksgiving call and the Christmas trip and all the holidays they didn’t get to plan are never going to happen.

How’s Evan supposed to breathe knowing that a part of himself is gone forever, and every day of the rest of his life is going to have some vital part missing from it.

“Okay, this isn’t working. Try, um, try focusing on something else. Name five things you can see right now, Evan.”

Evan wills himself to focus, picks out five things in the room. “Blanket. Desk. Lamp. Pillow. Backpack.” He gulps a deep breath.

“Great. What about five things you can feel.”

“Your hair. Your skin. Mattress. Pillow.” He struggles for a second to get the last one, then adds, “Cold air.”

He’s fine as long as he’s naming things, as long as he’s in the world and not his head. Maybe that’s the point of this whole exercise. Connor leads him through five things he can hear, then five things he can smell, and when he’s done, he’s breathing, and that’s enough.

Evan wipes at his eyes, presses a wet washcloth to them so they’re at least a little less puffy, and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’m ready,” he announces, because saying it out loud means it has to be true.

“Are you sure?” Connor looks unconvinced.

“Yep, sure. Let’s go.”

Connor pulls him into his arms for a second, tightly, at the door, and when he pulls back, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but he closes it again and opens the door instead, and they both go to meet Evan’s mom outside.

She seems to clock the puffy redness around Evan’s eyes right away, but Connor saves him from questioning.

“Hi, Mrs. Hansen. It’s good to see you again. Sorry for not being ready; I’m sure my parents have told you what a disaster I am.”

Evan slips silently into the front seat. He wants to sit in the back by Connor, but he knows his mom will complain about feeling like a chauffeur if he does.

“It’s alright, honey. I didn’t have to wait too long. And you can call me Heidi.”

She doesn’t argue against the Murphys telling her about “what a disaster Connor is,” and Evan wonders if they have. What if she hates him already? What if she doesn’t want Evan to keep seeing him?

She kept him from his dad, but she won’t keep him from Connor. Evan’s an adult now. He can do what he wants.

“Evan, it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed hearing your voice,” his mom says as she joins him in the car and pulls out from the school.

“Yeah. Well. I’ve been busy. College is busy.”

“Of course. I remember those days.”

“Obviously you do. They were last year,” Evan snaps.

“Heidi, it was so nice of you to drive us. Thank you,” Connor interrupts. Evan feels kind of bad - he hates when he ends up in the middle of an arguing family. But he can’t control the anger that’s simmering inside of him. It’s flames may just be the only thing holding him up.

“Yeah, super nice, Mom. Nice that you have all this time to come pick me and Connor up from college, but when I actually needed you around, you were so busy. Really great planning there.” He hates himself for saying it, hates himself for hating her so much right now, but it’s true isn’t it? She wasn’t around when he desperately needed her around.

  
She’d fought for custody of Evan; she’d kept him from his father, and it had all been for nothing. She’d promised to always be there for him, but he was always alone.

“What’s gotten into you, Evan? This isn’t like you.”

“Are you sure? Do you even know what “ _ like me” _ is? You’d have to have spent actual time with me for that.”

Her voice is so soft, so understanding, when she asks, “Is this about your father?”

The rage was simmering, but now it explodes. “Don’t talk about him!” Evan yells, half sob, half scream. “You didn’t even - you didn’t even  _ like  _ him. You hated him, and you kept me from him, and me not knowing him is  _ your  _ fault. So don’t talk about him.”

As he says it, though, he feels the anger fizzle, burn out, and he knows that’s not quite true. Sure, she didn’t make it easy for him to see his father, but Evan could’ve tried harder. He could’ve pressed.

It’s his fault.

His mom pulls a little harshly into a rest stop. “I need air,” she mutters and stomps away.

Connor gets out of the car and opens Evan’s door. “C’mon,” he says, and Evan follows him around the back of the building. As soon as they’re out of sight, Evan leans into his arms, and Connor brings one hand up to smooth his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Evan whispers.

“It’s alright. Do you want to get high? It’ll make the rest of the car ride more bearable.”

“My mom will smell it on us.”

“I have a vaporizer. The smell doesn’t really stick.”

That’s all Evan really needs to hear. He’s feeling too much, and if he can feel less, he’ll take whatever risks come with that.

When he returns to the car, he’s feeling sluggish and peaceful, and he climbs into the back and leans into Connor’s side, ignoring his mom’s questioning look.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he apologizes, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

They don’t talk the rest of the drive.

\----

Here’s the thing about the Murphy’s: for a family so obsessed with their image, everyone really loves making a scene.

This time, it’s really not Connor’s fault (proof that it never really was). He’s sober, he’s wearing a dress shirt, and he has very politely not brought up to his slightly homophobic extended family (you know the type: won’t tell you you’re going to burn in hell, but will focus very hard on their mashed potatoes to avoid acknowledging it) that he’s dating a boy. No one even asked him to be on his best behavior; he’s just that committed to getting through Thanksgiving.

It seems Larry is less inspired.

He’s ten scotches in, and Connor’s mom has been giving him disapproving looks all evening, which he’s pretended not to see, but at scotch eleven, and judgemental glance number unknown (Connor’s lost count), Larry slams the glass down on the table hard enough the drink sloshes out the top and says, “Did you have something to say?”

“Not here, Larry,” Cynthia sighs. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s just enjoy it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,  _ Cynthia _ . It’s you who seems to have a problem with that.”

Connor’s uncles look uncomfortable. His cousins seem confused. He glances over at Zoe, and it kind of looks like she’s teetering on the edge of a breakdown and an outburst, waiting to see which she tips into first. Her fists are clenched so hard her knuckles are white, and red blotches dapple her cheeks, and her mouth, a grim line, is wavering.

He wonders if this is what she used to look like when the family would fight over him, when he would start those fights. He’d never even looked over. Connor remembers when things got really bad thinking that Zoe had betrayed him, had stopped fighting for him, but now he realizes he’d stopped fighting for her too.

“Hey, I think it’s time for a kids board game while we digest enough to make room for dessert,” Connor suggests, trying to sound bright. He’s pretty sure it sounds more like he’s a car salesman or something, but his cousins don’t seem to notice.

“But I’m not-” CJ, eight years old, starts to complain, but his mother cuts him off.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Connor.”

As the cousins start trailing behind him, Connor notices Zoe still hasn’t stood up, so he turns back to tug at her arm until she follows, rolling her eyes.

“Since when do you diffuse tense situations?” she mutters on the way to the basement, where the Murphy’s collection of unplayed board games lives.

“I didn’t diffuse anything. Just got us out of the blast radius. Are you alright? You seemed, like,  _ not alright _ .”

Zoe stops, and since she’s a step ahead of Connor, he has to stop too. “Am I- Am I alright?  _ Are you alright _ ?” She turns to face him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Tell me the truth, have they been performing brain transplants in college? Did you get abducted by aliens?”

She’s trying for incredulity and humor, Connor knows, but there’s something thin there, something frantic under it, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. He always saw her as the perfect daughter, the kid their parents didn’t have to worry about or fight over because she had it all together. Was this always underneath? Or is it new since he’s been gone?

He chuckles, smiles. “You’ve figured out my secret. Alien abduction. All it takes to stop being a total trainwreck.”

Her smile is weak when she says, “I knew it” and turns to go the rest of the way downstairs.

They should talk, he thinks. But not right now. Right now, the cousins are going to start revolting if someone doesn’t pull out a game to play. As he descends the final step, he declares, “We’ve got a lot of different ages to bring together here, so I’m thinking  _ Clue _ ?”

Connor and Zoe are the oldest, followed by Kailey at 14, Jaime at 10, CJ and Gabby at 8, and Annabelle at 4. 

“It’s six players, though,” Connor adds, “so I call having Annabelle on my team.”

“We’re gonna beat all of you,” Annabelle declares, lifting her arms, so Connor will pick her up.

“Team Connor-belle!” He agrees.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know what that means.”

The game goes smoothly for approximately ten minutes, and if you’d have asked Connor to place bets on who would ruin it first, he would’ve said Annabelle (he’s pretty sure the only reason she hasn’t told everyone what cards he has is that she can’t read) followed by Gabby (she just seems like the type to flip a game board if she loses).

In dead last (after himself, even), would’ve been Zoe, but they haven’t even fully made it through everyone’s turn before she’s yelling.

“You’re cheating, CJ! I saw you looking at the card that Jaime was trying to show me.”

“It’s not my fault that Jaime did a bad job of passing it. I just saw. I wasn’t looking. Connor, tell her I’m not cheating.”

“I-” Connor starts, trying to find the right words to make peace, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“If you’re not playing fair, I’m not going to play!” Zoe storms off.

There’s a second of tense silence before Connor says, “Maybe that’s enough for  _ Clue _ . How about  _ Sorry _ instead?”

“That’s a four player game, and there’s six of us,” Jaime points out.

“You guys can play without me. I should probably check on Zoe, anyway. And someone else can get the privilege of being on Annabelle’s team. She’s a secret weapon, I tell you.”

He stays to set up the game, makes sure there aren’t going to be any arguments over the rules, and then he’s finding his way to Zoe’s room, where he assumes she’s gone. As he passes by the dining room, he hears that they’re still arguing, and all the uncles and aunts have gotten involved as well.

He knocks on Zoe’s door tentatively.

“What?” she demands.

“It’s Connor. Can I come in?”

She opens the door, and her face is wet with tears, eyes red rimmed, mascara on her cheeks. “Why?”

“To check on you,” he says honestly. “You just yelled at an eight year old.”

She steps aside to let him through the doorway, and he sits on her floor, leaning back against her bed. The room is messy, clothes tossed on chairs and guitar strings tangled on the desk. Connor hasn’t seen inside it in years, but he always thought it would be neat. An apt metaphor for their relationship.

She joins him, tucking her knees to her chest and resting her head on them, turning it to face Connor.

“You’ve changed,” she says. “You’ve never come to check on me before.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. He doesn’t know if it’s being away from all the craziness and tension at home or if Evan’s just a good influence, but being here again, it’s so clear to see the differences. He doesn’t fit quite right into the space he left behind, and that’s a really good thing. “Have you? Changed, I mean. Were you always like this, and I was just, too distracted to notice? Or… is it getting worse?”

He watches another tear make its way across her face. “Both,” she whispers. “Like, before, it was like, obviously no one was paying attention to me because you needed it more. And sure it was shitty with all the yelling and fighting and not being able to say anything, but I was protecting you by not causing more problems, right?”

She gulps in a breath. “But then, you left. And they still don’t see me.”

She stops like she’s trying to get her composure back, but instead, she starts gasping little intakes of air, and then she’s sobbing, her whole body convulsing with it.

There’s been so much distance between them for so long, Connor knows, and most of it his fault. Even the two inches between them now feel uncrossable. But there was a time when it wasn’t like this, when Zoe followed him around, pretending to be a soldier in his army. When they were on the same team.

They still are, he decides. Two passengers on the same shitty ride.

He puts a hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles on it. Her dress is slippery, silky. He’d bet anything their mom picked it out for her.

When her breathing’s evened enough to speak, she says, “You know, I got drunk and passed out at one of Bee’s parties, and when I woke up, I was terrified I would be in so much trouble for not coming home, but Mom and Dad said nothing. There wasn’t even a text asking where I was.”

“That sucks. You deserve better.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“A firm talking to at least,” he adds as a joke. “Maybe even a grounding. Taking your car away seems a fit punishment for not coming home on time, right.”

She smiles, enough that the dimple in her left cheek shows through. “Well when you put it like that…”

They sit quietly for a few minutes and it’s nice, comfortable. It’s like it used to be before everything went to shit.

“I know you’ve changed and all, but please tell me you’re the same degenerate as always, deep down,” Zoe says after a while. “Because I don’t know if I can get through the rest of dinner without the help of mind altering substances.”

“I have an edible, and I’m pretty sure the adults will be arguing so long it’ll hit before dessert. But you’re the problem child tonight, okay? I’m not going to get high with you. I’m the perfect son who saved everyone with board games.”

Zoe laughs, “Alright, loser. Take me to the drugs.”

After Zoe’s taken the edible, they return to the board games. Zoe apologizes to CJ before they resume  _ Clue _ , with no fighting this time. By the time Jaime wins it, Connor notices Zoe has zoned out almost entirely, doodling stars into the corner of her note sheet instead of recording the clues.

It’s only a few minutes later that Connor’s aunt comes down to let everyone know it’s time for dessert.

“Pie?” Zoe asks, eyes wide and excited.

Connor laughs. “Oh my god, everyone’s going to know you’re high.”

“So what? You’ve been to rehab twice, and Dad’s a functioning alcoholic.”

“Um, one of those times was a wilderness retreat, not rehab. They’re different.”

When they get upstairs, Zoe goes straight for the pecan pie, and as she eats it, then a slice of apple pie, their parents keep giving her looks like they can tell what’s going on but aren’t going to make  _ another _ scene at dinner.

When the rest of the family finally clears out, Cynthia and Larry corner Connor and Zoe in the kitchen, where they are, rather generously, Connor thinks, rinsing dishes to load into the dishwasher.

“Zoe, are you high?” Cynthia asks.

“Yup.” Zoe pops the ‘p’ and Connor tries very hard to stifle his laugh.

“Did Connor put you up to this?” Larry starts. “Home for two days and already-”

Connor puts his hands up, the classic gesture of  _ nothing to see here _ , and says, “This is about Zoe. Don’t make it about me. Did you know, she’s been going to parties and getting drunk, too.”

Zoe’s jaw drops, and she looks almost exactly like how a cartoonist would portray shock. “Tattletale!” she says, but her expression is pretty quickly shifting into a grin.

“Is that true, Zoe?” Cynthia asks.

“One party,” Zoe says. “Well one I didn’t come home from. Three in total.”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re in so much trouble,” Larry says, and Connor does laugh at that.

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on that?” He asks. “Like if you’re too shitty at being parents to notice your teenage daughter not coming home, maybe you don’t deserve to punish her for it after the fact.”

Larry splutters, lost for words, but when he finds them again, it’s to tell Connor and Zoe to go to their rooms, and to tell Zoe that she’s grounded for two weeks.

As Connor and Zoe make their way upstairs together, Zoe nudges Connor with her shoulder. “Thanks for starting shit for me.”

Connor smirks. “I say this with utmost honesty: it was my fucking pleasure.”

She laughs.

“No seriously, any time you want me to cause problems, just shoot me a text. It is my specialty, and you are the most worthwhile cause.”

At the door to Connor’s room, just before they go their separate ways, Zoe pulls him into a hug, blink-and-you-miss-it quick and says, “I love you, Connor.”

“I love you, too.”

\----

“Evannnn,” Jared’s voice makes it through the door before he does. “I haven’t heard from you in actual ages!”

He barrels into the living room. Usually the Kleinmans host Thanksgiving and invite Evan and his mom, but apparently she offered their own house this year. Even though Evan hasn’t really been here in a few months, it still feels too much like an invasion, like this is his space, and it’s being polluted with noise and people and  _ Jared _ .

“Yeah, well, college.” Evan shrugs. He doesn’t want to be here.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard of this wild new invention. It’s called the cellphone.”

“Why would I text you though? We’re not friends.”

Jared laughs like Evan’s told the funniest joke, and says, “Shut up and tell me about your semester.”

In high school, Evan went along with what Jared wanted because, really, what else did he have, but he has more now. He doesn’t have to put up with him. “I should help my mom with the stuffing.”

Jared’s parents have moved into the small dining room already, so it’s just Evan and Jared left standing in the middle of the living room, facing off.

“Did I do something?” Jared asks, face falling.

It’s weird to see, Jared, afraid. Jared, insecure. “You’ve said for years that we’re only family friends. Family friends don’t text each other college updates.”

“Yes they do. I texted you so many college updates.”

“I didn’t ask for them.” It’s short, mean. It’s unlike Evan, but he feels so strong when it comes out of his mouth. Jared’s been putting him down for years, telling him his friendship is only worth the car insurance payments it leads to, reminding him he’s a loser, but Evan has the power now. Maybe he had it all along.

Maybe Jared’s always needed Evan more than Evan’s needed him.

“Oh.” Jared goes quieter than Evan’s ever seen him, and Evan leaves him standing open mouthed next to the couch, waiting for words that aren’t coming.

Evan helps his mom get everything into serving bowls and set up, and everyone sits down together, slightly crowded around the small dining room table. Jared doesn’t speak at all during the meal, unless directly addressed, and even Evan’s mom looks concerned at the silence.

By the time everyone’s finished, the adults' conversation has grown stilted, like the awkwardness between Evan and Jared has seeped into the food and infected everyone. The Kleinmans look relieved when the pie is finished and it’s acceptable for them to leave.

As soon as the door closes behind the guests, Evan’s mom corners him.

“What’s going on with you and Jared? You used to be the best of friends.”

He feels his irritation with Jared bubbling over, spilling into his feelings about his mom. He spent all of high school miserable and afraid and  _ alone _ , and it was their fault. They were supposed to help him, and they didn’t.

“We weren’t friends, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Evan,” she sighs. The sound is so familiar, the exhaustion in it. Evan used to think it was her job and the classes, but now he realizes it was always him, always his fault. She was tired because he was a burden, and he still is.

“It’s fine. I’m tired.” He lies.

“Honey, you can’t be angry with everyone.”

He thinks  _ I’m not angry with Connor _ , but he doesn’t say anything and shuts the door a little harshly behind him.

Evan hates his mom, and he hates Jared, and he hates the stupid Kleinmans for invading his home, hates the professors who offered extensions for his  _ extenuating circumstances _ but gave him zeroes when he didn’t make the extended deadlines. Most of all, he hates himself.

He wants to die. He wants to climb a tree until he can’t see the ground or dig out Connor’s knife from his desk drawer or crash a car on a rainy street. He just doesn’t want to be here, hurting anymore.

But he can’t. He’s stuck in his childhood bedroom, and all the trees outside are short, and his mom wouldn’t give him the car keys if he asked.

He’s never felt this trapped.

\----

**From Evan Hansen:** do you think maybe you’d be able to come over

**From Evan Hansen:** its fine if you cant

**From Evan Hansen:** i just had a bad day and dont want to be alone

**From Evan Hansen:** but if you have to stay with your family that’s fine

Even if Evan’s texts weren’t slightly concerning (Evan wouldn’t have reached out if it wasn’t already pretty bad), Connor would still want to see him.

Sure, it’s only been a day, but they haven’t gone a day without seeing each other in two and a half months.

**From Connor Murphy:** ill borrow zoes car and come

His parents went to bed early, so he tiptoes next door to Zoe’s room and knocks quietly. She opens her door and rolls her eyes when she sees him.

“What do you want?”

Connor smiles sheepishly. “To borrow your car.”

“Why would you possibly need a car? You don’t have friends.”

“That hurts. Truly,” Connor deadpans, but when Zoe remains, arms crossed, in the doorway, he steps past her into her room and shuts the door behind him, adding, “I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell Mom and Dad.”

It feels good, being on the same side with Zoe, sharing secrets, hopefully sharing a car.

Again, she rolls her eyes. “Why would I ever tell Mom and Dad anything?”

A bitter chuckle bubbles up Connor’s throat. “I just have to cover my bases. You know how they get when anyone knows something about us before they do.”

“Yeah, okay, so what’s the big secret? Are you dating someone?”

He raises his eyebrows in assent, and her mouth goes wide.

“Ohmygod, I didn’t think that would actually be true. Who?”

Officially, this is the first person he’s told since everyone at school just kind of figured it out on their own. He feels giddy with it. “Evan Hansen.”

“You’re dating your roommate? That’s so convenient.”

“I know. So can I borrow your car?”

She grabs the key from on top of her dresser and tosses it to him. “It’s not like I need it.”

He speeds a little on the way to Evan’s house, worried that the time talking to Zoe was already too much. It was necessary to get the car, and also, it was good for their relationship, but Connor can’t stop thinking that maybe Evan’s not safe.

What if he had more than just a “bad day” and tried to hurt himself while Connor was gossiping with his sister? What if Connor’s too late?

Outside Evan’s house, he makes himself pause and breathe as he sends off a text.

**From Connor Murphy:** outside. want me to come in or u to come out?

**From Evan Hansen:** ill come to you

It’s only a few seconds before Evan is coming out the door, and in the front porch light, Connor can see that his eyes are red rimmed and tears still glint on his cheeks, and he’s shaking even though it’s not all that cold out.

He looks ready to collapse at any moment, and when he gets into the car, as soon as his seatbelt is on, he curls into himself, feet up on the seat, head against his knees.

He’s repeating something under his breath that sounds like either, “it needs to stop,” or “I need to stop,” and Connor’s not sure which would be worse.

He rests a hand on the back of Evan’s neck and rubs gently along it, down his back, and back up again.

“Can we just-” Evan gulps, “Can we just drive. Somewhere. Around. Just-just drive.”

Connor starts the car, but he keeps one hand at Evan’s back as he pulls off of Evan’s street. As they get further away, Evan’s phone starts to buzz. First just once, then a succession, then constantly. Connor glances at it to see the caller ID says, “Mom.”

“Can you respond? She’s going to worry if you don’t.”

Evan shakes his head and chokes on another sob. Somewhere along the way, comforting Evan has started to be second nature, like sitting in his sadness with him is Connor’s job, and Connor murmurs while continuing to stroke his back. “That’s okay. You’re okay.”

He pulls to the side of the road and parks. “Can I text her for you so she knows you’re alright?” Connor’s own parents would just assume Connor was out causing problems if he did this, but Evan’s never been one to cause problems, and anyway, Heidi seems far less likely than Cynthia or Larry to jump to conclusions.

Evan nods and unlocks his phone, passing it to Connor.

There are a string of text messages from Heidi, starting from, “Are you okay?” and “Where are you going?” through “Just text me to let me know you’re safe” all the way to “I’m worried, honey.”

Connor sends back, “im ok. driving around with connor.”

“Is she mad?” Evan whimpers.

“Not at all. She just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

As he says that, Heidi’s reply comes in. “Okay. Lock up when you come home, and stay safe. Love you.” Connor reads it out loud to Evan who uncurls a little bit at the confirmation.

Connor can’t think of anywhere to go at this time of night, and anyway, Evan doesn’t seem up for much more than driving around, so Connor takes random turns, following roads around the town until Evan’s breaths start to even and he’s stopped shaking.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Evan whispers.

“I don’t mind. What happened?”

Evan shrugs, head still on his knees. “Everything just feels really bad.”

It’s not an answer, but Connor can tell it’s all he’s going to get. Evan feels things, and he expresses those feelings, but Connor’s never heard him talk about them. Like the most open closed book there is. Like his heart is on his sleeve, but his brain is under permanent lockdown.

“I’m sorry,” Connor tells him.

“It’s okay. I’m okay now. You don’t have to keep driving me around. You can drop me off and go home.”

Connor pulls the car into a gravel parking lot starting to be consumed with grass. A half rotten sign still reads “Autumn Smiles Apple Orchard”. He hadn’t realized he’d driven here, hasn’t even thought about this place in years.

It feels right.

He undoes his seatbelt and swings himself over into Evan’s seat, so he’s kneeling half next to him, half in his lap. They’re face to face, and Connor wants to stare into his eyes, and to rest his head on his shoulder, and to kiss him until they both forget why they came here in the first place, and, torn with indecision, he wraps his arms loosely around Evan’s shoulders and says, “I’ll take you home whenever you want to go home, but I don’t want to leave just yet. You have to hear about my Thanksgiving first. I’ll give you a preview: it ends with Zoe high and eating an entire pumpkin pie by herself.”

Evan laughs and listens to Connor’s story, only distracting him with a kiss three times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! I meant to get this out the day before Thanksgiving, but the ADHD (and the exams) got me!
> 
> I'm really enjoying the direction this story is going, but now that the early stage hyperfixation has passed, updates are definitely going to slow. Keep bookmarking, kudos-ing, and most of all, commenting! Every comment makes me write faster.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings for self harm, panic attacks, dissociation, suicidal ideation, mentions of past suicide attempts, hospitalization  
> This one's really intense, so remember to take care of yourselves.

Connor’s pretty sure he’s the worst boyfriend ever. For lots of reasons, but most specifically this:

Evan is having a Very Bad Time, and Connor is at the library with Daniel studying for finals instead of helping him. Well, if he’s being honest, it’s more like he’s at the library to get away from him.

Who does that? Leaves their depressed boyfriend alone while they study for a class they barely bothered with all term?

But it’s like Evan’s sadness, his anxiety, is spilling out of him and polluting the whole room, making the air stale, the light dim. Connor’s been feeling pretty good lately, attending lectures, catching up on assignments he missed when he wasn’t doing as well, and when he’s in that room, he feels it seeping right back in.

Connor knows Evan needs support. Understanding. Love.

And he’s trying so hard to give it, but what good is he going to be if he falls apart too?

And more importantly, though he hates himself for thinking it, what good is he going to be to himself if he lets Evan’s darkness infect him?

This time last year, Connor was one casual suicide attempt away from getting the job done.

He can’t go back to that. 

He wants to live. 

“So what’s Evan up to today?” Daniel asks casually, as if it’s going to be a different answer from any day this week.

Connor puts his head down on the table instead of replying.

“So the spending all day watching documentaries in bed routine, then?” Daniel’s tone is strained with forced lightness, and he adds, “Should we, like, be worried?”

It makes sense, Connor thinks darkly, that Daniel would show more concern for Evan than Connor is. Daniel, unlike Connor, is a good person.

“Obviously,” he snaps. “He’s one bad day from jumping out of another fucking tree, but what are we supposed to do about it? I’ve tried to kill myself more times than I can count, and holding on to this tiny bit of sanity,” he pinches his fingers together for emphasis, “is literally all I can manage, and I’m not even really managing because all my energy is spent taking care of Evan or worrying about Evan or hating myself for not worrying more about Evan. I’ve slept eight hours in the last three days, and I haven’t registered a single thing I’ve read in the last hour.” He ends with a loud, “Fuck!” that startles a girl at the table next to theirs.

“Dude,” Daniel says, “Do we need to worry about you?”

Connor wants to respond, maybe another “ _ obviously _ ,” or a denial, a “No I’m fine, just venting,” but he’s gone and worked himself up, and now he feels himself boiling over, all this energy needing to be released.

“I need air,” he says and starts across the library to avoid yelling at Daniel

All his movements are too harsh, he can tell, his steps too loud on the wooden floor and his body too stiff as he flees the library. Vaguely, he’s aware of Daniel gathering their things and following him, but all he knows is he needs to get  _ out _ before he explodes, needs to minimize the damage.

By the time he’s outside, the energy’s taken over. He’s on autopilot, mindlessly seeking some target, something to do to stop feeling this way, to let out the energy that’s burning under his skin.

Before he knows it, he’s across the field and sharp pain is shooting through his hand as it connects with a tree.

He feels flushed all over, too warm, and his breath is coming in sharp pants as he tries to calm down. His hand hurts more than he would’ve thought it would. There are gouges and splinters in the knuckles from the rough bark, skin raw and bleeding, and the pain radiating from the inside is so severe he can’t manage to unclench his fist.

It hurts, and he hurts, and he’s so fucking tired. He collapses against the tree, good hand cradling the bad so he can’t even cover the fact that he’s crying. So now every fucking person that passes by can see what a  _ psycho  _ Connor Murphy is.

Daniel crouches in front of him, and his expression is open, genuine, and it just makes Connor angry because it looks like pity, and Connor doesn’t know if he wants to be pitied or not, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy to wonder, and he knows he can’t handle if Daniel asks him if he’s alright.

“Can I see your hand?” Daniel asks.

“What?”

“I’m a trained EMT, and I’m studying sports medicine, and you punched that tree really fucking hard, so I want to see if your hand is alright. Can I look at it?”

“Oh.”

Connor reaches out so Daniel can look at his injured hand. He’s still unsteady, still shaking, breath still uneven and sharp, still fucking crying, but when Daniel grips his wrist to keep it still while he inspects the hand, it helps a little bit. His touch is gentle, and he’s asking questions about how different movements feel in a way that’s so direct and clinical that Connor’s shame is quickly fading.

Like the wild frat boy he was with just minutes ago has been replaced by a calm professional from whom there’s no risk of judgement.

“Bad news,” Daniel says after several minutes of inspection which Connor uses to take deep breaths and get control of himself. “I think there’s a good chance it’s broken.

“Well, fuck,” Connor breathes.

“We should head over to Urgent Care now before it closes.”

Connor’s heart speeds up again. “No, I can’t. I told Evan I’d bring him dinner on the way back from studying. He won’t eat if I don’t bring him anything, and he’ll worry, and he has enough going on right now-”

“You might have a broken hand. You can’t just ignore that. You can’t just not take care of yourself because you’re taking care of Evan. That’s how you end up punching trees, dude.”

It makes sense, and really, Connor knows he doesn’t have a choice about getting his hand looked at because it hurts so much he can barely think about anything else, but the concept of leaving Evan alone all evening after abandoning him all day already has Connor’s face heating and his breath coming quickly again.

A cool hand comes to rest on the back of his neck as Daniel says, “Hey, you’re working yourself up again. It’s going to be alright. I know for a fact Violet isn’t doing anything right now, so I’ll just text her to bring food to Evan and hang out with him while we go to Urgent Care. You know they’ll have a better time than we will waiting for an hour just to get seen.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Connor mutters, “be nice to me because you feel sorry for me.”

Daniel shakes his head and offers him a hand to help stand. “Shut up, dude. I’m being nice to you because we’re friends.”

Being with Evan, having a boyfriend, being part of a unit like that is kind of new to Connor, but he knows the general shape of it. He and Miguel were never so official, but the feelings were the same.

This, though, having an actual friend, one who knows Connor and still seems to like him, that’s monumental.

“Oh.”

Daniel drives them to Urgent Care, and every bump in the road jostles Connor’s hand until the pain is so much he can’t see past it or through it. It’s nice, in a way. Physical pain can be so blinding, so distracting; it’s why he used to hurt himself.

When he goes to check in, the nurse hands him paperwork to fill out, and that’s when it all starts unraveling again.

He’s had days like this before, days where he’s not sure if everything’s going wrong or if it’s all going fine and just setting him off anyway. It used to be days like these that had him swerving into trees and swallowing handfuls of pills, but that’s not going to be today.

He’s worried about Evan, and his hand hurts, and he can’t hold a pen, and he doesn’t know his insurance information, but he wants to live.

“I’m pretty sure I saw you writing earlier with the tree punching hand, so unless you happen to be ambidextrous, I’m guessing you need some paperwork help,” Daniel suggests, guiding the once again shaking Connor to a set of chairs in the corner.

Connor doesn’t answer, apologizing instead. “I’m sorry you have to deal with me. I don’t know why I’m being such a freak today. I’ve been fine.”

“Because you’re sleep deprived and mentally ill and it’s been a long fucking day, and instead of going home to rest and reset, you’re stuck here.”

Connor nods and feels tears stinging his eyes because that’s it, a perfect summary of how he’s feeling, because someone sees him and knows him, and that shouldn’t be unfamiliar, but it is.

His voice wavers when he says, “I’m not ambidextrous. I can’t fill out the paperwork.”

“That’s cool, here.” Daniel takes the clipboard from him and starts to scan it.

“It looks like they’re only asking about why you’re here today and for updated insurance information, so they probably already have the rest of your information. Have you been here before?”

“More times than I can count. It’s the closest Urgent Care to my house.

This isn’t even the first time Connor’s here because he punched something. That was eighth grade when he heard students whispering about him and punched the locker behind them so hard it dented (the hand turned out to be fine, and he got two weeks of detention).

“I always forget how you and Evan are from nearby. Must be weird going to college so close to home.”

Connor shrugs. “It feels far away most of the time.”

The paperwork is as much of a disaster as Connor expected it to be. They get as far as his name, date of birth, and reason for admission before he’s stuck not knowing the answers.

His parents never gave him his insurance card when he left for school, so now, he has to call them.

He tries his mom first because, honestly, she’ll be nicer about it, but after a few rings, it goes to voicemail, and he gives in and calls Larry.

He, unfortunately, picks up on the first ring.

“Connor. What’s wrong?” 

Immediately assuming something’s wrong, a strong start, Connor thinks.

“Nothing. Well, not much.” His voice sounds too raw, gives away too much. “I’m just - I was just wondering about my health insurance information.”

“What’ve you done this time?” Larry sighs, and Connor feels himself shrink further into the seat. Normally, he would be getting angry, but he has no energy left in him for that. After all, he deserves this. He was just saying he’s been here so many times before, because he’s always fucking messing up and self destructing and falling apart, so why would Larry expect anything else.

“It’s nothing. I just - I hurt my hand.”

“A fight? Did you get in another fight, Connor. You know you’re an adult now; you can’t-”

“I didn’t get in a fight. I just hurt my hand.”

“Then how did you hurt it?”

“Can you just - I’m going to give my phone to my friend who’s filling out the paperwork for me so you can give him the insurance info.”

He passes Daniel the phone without waiting for a response and starts pulling absently at his fingers. When he gets to the pinky, the tension sends a jolt of pain through his hand, and that’s it. That’s what he needs. He pulls it again.

He presses on the scrapes on the back of his hand, pushes a splinter in further, digs his nail into the still healing cuts and watches fresh blood bloom.

Phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, clipboard balanced precariously on his lap, Daniel wordlessly takes Connor’s good hand and traps it under his on the armrest, so Connor can’t pull and press and scrape anymore.

His dad thinks he’s a lost cause and Daniel pities him and Evan would be better off without him, and he can’t hurt himself, and he wants to die, but he’s not going to die, so there’s nothing he can do but sit and feel it all.

After a few minutes, Daniel puts the phone down and asks, “can you do a few more questions?”

Connor shakes his head. He can’t do anything else. He can’t answer any more questions or talk to anyone or think or breathe or-

“That’s alright. They’re not super important anyway. I’m going to return these to the nurse and see if I can get an ice pack for your hand. I’ll be right back.”

Connor nods. It seems moving his head is all he’s capable of doing. Like he’s shutting down.

Daniel returns more quickly than Connor was expecting with a paper towel wrapped ice pack.

“Mission complete,” he jokes, passing the ice over to Connor.

It takes a full thirty seconds to remember what to do with it and another thirty to make himself press the ice pack against his injured hand.

“Hey, quick checkpoint,” Daniel says, squeezing and releasing Connor’s shoulder for a second before letting his hand rest there, a steady, grounding presence, “Scale of 1 to 10, 1: in immediate crisis, 5: mentally ill, but in the normal, chill way, 10: surprise trip to Disneyland levels of happiness, how are you doing right now?”

It takes multiple steps to express an answer.

First, Connor has to figure out how he actually is doing, which is a nontrivial task. He’s not the king of denial like Evan, but what does “crisis” even really mean? And is some minor dissociation (which yeah, he’s been to enough therapy to know that that’s what’s going on right now) better or worse than actively trying to hurt himself?

Then, he has to work up the energy to say anything at all.

By the time he thinks he can get the words out, a few minutes have passed, and Daniel’s still waiting patiently with his hand warm on Connor’s shoulder. He hasn’t asked Connor again or tried to speed him up, and that’s what gives him the answer for the final step: how honest to be.

“One and a half,” he whispers, and it’s a scary truth to say out loud, let alone to someone else, even if it is just because it’s been a long, bad day, even if tomorrow he’ll wake up at his normal four, or five, or even six like he has been lately. Right now, he can barely remember why he’s so intent on staying alive. “I’m not going to die, though,” he adds, a reassurance to Daniel, and a reminder to himself.

“That’s a good place to start,” Daniel says, and other than that, he doesn’t react to Connor’s statement.

If he’d ever told his parents he was doing that badly, that he was only a half a step up from completely unraveling, his mom would’ve started crying, and his dad would’ve poured himself a drink, and after an hour of ignoring Connor to wallow in their own guilt, they would’ve sent him off to some new program or therapist or retreat.

Even Evan would’ve immediately jumped into “help” mode, wasting effort on fruitless attempts to improve Connor’s mood that would only make him feel bad for not being better.

This feels better: someone sitting in his pain with him without trying to change it.

He fades in and out of awareness for nearly an hour of waiting while Daniel sits next to him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and when he’s finally called in, he makes it through the x-ray and the splinting and even the doctor’s judgement (“Just so you know, we’re  _ not  _ going to prescribe you narcotics for the pain.”) without breaking down again, and finally he’s able to leave with a splint, a referral for a follow up in two weeks, and the recommendation to take ibuprofen until the swelling and pain goes down.

\---

Evan is having a Very Bad Time lately, which is probably why he didn’t notice that Connor’s also been doing decidedly Not Great.

Like, Evan hasn’t done homework since Thanksgiving, and every time he doesn’t turn in an assignment, he starts worrying that the professor is going to start hating him for not putting in enough effort, and so then he can’t go to class in case the professor says something about his terrible work ethic, but that makes him even more anxious, and he’s not sure he’s actually taken a deep breath in two weeks.

And all that worrying is so exhausting, and he’s already so exhausted all the time because he’s started to be plagued with nightmares, scary uncertain things where he’s out hiking with his father and suddenly remembers that his father’s already dead, and sometimes when he realizes that, his father disappears, leaving him alone in the darkening woods, and sometimes two histories exist in the dream: the one where he died, and the one where he only almost did, and Evan can’t remember which is real, and sometimes, the realization just wakes him all the way up, shaking and with tears already in his eyes.

So all he can do all day is lie in bed and watch Netflix, but he feels too guilty about watching something trashy and unproductive, so he can only watch nature documentaries which even he starts to find monotonous after a time.

Wishing he was dead has stopped coming in bursts of intense emotion, and is instead a constant, dull ache in his chest.

So, he’s had a lot going on.

And through it all, Connor has been the one good thing.

He brings Evan food and forces him to watch shitty romcoms and holds him when he wakes up in tears, and he’s seemed so good lately. Like something stable for Evan to lean on.

And all along, Evan was just missing the signs, ignoring the splintering.

Connor looks like a walking corpse when he makes it back to their room at 7:30, skin pale, dark bags under his eyes, expression completely hollow.

“How was Urgent Care?” Violet asks politely. She’s on the floor, leaning up against Evan’s bed, and he’s sitting across from her with a deck of cards in the middle. They’ve been passing the time waiting for Connor with games.

It’s been a nice distraction, a break from being sad and angry and tired and worried, though he’s ready to return to business as usual tomorrow.

“My hand’s broken, I cried like five times, and both the doctor and my father implied they think I’m basically a disaster, so I’ve had better days.” 

Connor crosses the room and lies down on the floor next to Evan, curling up and resting his head in his lap. Evan’s hand immediately goes to his hair, pulling the hair tie free so he can run his fingers through it.

Evan likes getting his own hair played with too, but there’s something about being in this position, the one giving comfort instead of receiving it for a change that calms him. Like there’s finally something important enough to push his own turbulent emotions aside for.

“I’m sorry,” Violet says. “Sounds shitty. You want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Connor answers, closing his eyes. “I just want to lie here with my boyfriend playing with my hair and let the world leave me out of its bullshit for a few minutes. But tell me about your non-crying, non-tree-punching day.”

Evan stiffens for a second, but he quickly recovers to keep scratching at Connor’s scalp. He didn’t know that’s how Connor got hurt. He figured it was more of the “accident triggers a breakdown” situation, not the other way around.

He’s going to start paying more attention. Leaning on each other only works if it goes both ways.

“Well I already told Evan all this, but I’ve started talking to this really cute girl in my thesis seminar-”

Evan heard all this over dinner, which Violet had brought along with the information that Connor hurt his hand and was at Urgent Care with Daniel, so he tunes it out to focus on Connor instead.

His eyes are closed, and it’s easy to see like that how long and delicate his eyelashes are. His lips are pressed together, but they’re turned up just slightly at the corners, and his whole face seems to have gone lax like he’s shaken off some of the weight of the day.

He’s beautiful.

“Anyways,” Violet finishes, “I have a 9 AM tomorrow, so I should head out, but if either of you ever needs something, you know how to reach me.”

“Yeah, I mean, thanks, I mean, goodnight,” Evan stumbles over his words. He’s still not great at talking to people who aren’t Connor, but he’s slowly getting more comfortable. Or at least he was before Thanksgiving.

“Yeah, goodnight,” Connor adds, “And keep us updated on Thesis Girl. I’m invested now.”

Violet’s laugh disappears as she closes the door behind her, leaving Connor and Evan alone.

Before Evan can open his mouth, Connor says, “No talking tonight. I just want to sleep.”

He starts to stand and pulls Evan up along with him, and when they’re up and facing each other, Evan forces himself to meet his eyes. He would very much like to talk; it would ease the guilt and fear pounding in his chest, but this is about Connor, not him, so instead he says, “Just - you’re okay?”

Connor nods and folds himself fully into Evan’s arms. He’s a good three inches taller, but he has a way of shrinking himself down, so he still fits like the most natural thing, and Evan holds him like that for at least twenty minutes until he finally pulls himself away to begin getting ready for bed.

\---

“You can’t take off the wrap,” Connor hears from Evan’s desk. He rolls his eyes and stops picking at the edge of the wrap holding his last two fingers together.

“Have you ever tried typing up an essay with only one and a half hands? It’s so fucking slow, Evan. By the time I manage to type the first part of my thought, I’ve already forgotten the second.”

“I dealt with a broken hand a lot longer than you’re going to have to.”

“Yeah, but yours was the non-dominant one. I bet your teachers just let you handwrite everything. I can barely hold a pencil with it wrapped like this. Who knew the pinky and ring finger played such essential roles in pencil holding?”

“I think you’ll survive.”

Connor swivels his desk chair so he’s facing Evan and widens his eyes dramatically. “Maybe the broken hand, but not Freshman Writing. This class will be the death of me. Who assigns a 12 page paper?”

“You could be doing your Calculus problem set instead,” Evan deadpans.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re evil.” Connor scoots his chair closer until his knees are pressed against Evan’s. “Reminding me of Calculus at a time like this.”

Evan laughs. “A time like what? Finals review period?”

“Exactly. Is there not enough stress in my life without making me think about math?”

Evan presses a brief kiss to his lips before pushing his chair so it rolls a few feet across the room. “Stop using me as a distraction. You’re the one who insisted you’d finish this paper tonight.”

“What’s the point of rooming with my boyfriend if not to be distracted?”

Connor’s complaining, but this is fun. Flirting with Evan for a brief distraction from essay writing. Actually completing his work on time. Laughing together.

Finals are only a week away, but things feel good. They feel light.

“I don’t think there was a point to us living together at all. Just a fun coincidence.”

“I don’t know,” Connor says, finally turning back to his computer. “Could’ve been fate.”

\---

Finals are in two days, and things are Not Good.

So, like, Evan knows he’s good at denial. When the choice is between constant panic and getting really skilled at pushing that panic down, everyone would choose denial, really.

Except the feelings always come back eventually, when there’s no more room inside Evan to push anything else into, or when something is too big to pretend away, and when the thing he’s trying to pretend away is his whole life, it’s a miracle he’s made it this long.

“Connor?” Evan gasps, but Connor went to the library an hour ago with Daniel and Violet.

Evan had elected to depression-nap the time away.

He’s been doing okay at functioning lately. He doesn’t take in anything his professors say, but he makes it to his lectures, sits numbly in the back forcing himself not to worry about whether his professors hate him for missing so much class, begging the universe they don’t stop him on the way out to ask about his missing assignments.

He’s done two of his overdue assignments, and he’s mastered the art of looking like he’s working when Connor glances over.

But it’s a tiring facade: wanting to die and having to pretend to live.

Hence, the nap.

Except he should’ve known that would be the wrong move because he doesn’t sleep without nightmares anymore, and now Connor’s gone for at least a few more hours, and Evan’s wide awake, and he can’t breathe.

Finals are in two days, and Evan is about to fail out of college, and he’s a burden on all his friends here at college, and his dad is dead, and he should’ve died when he fell out of that tree. He was meant to die, but he couldn’t even fucking do that, and now he’s stuck here, miserable, and making everyone miserable around him.

He feels like he’s dying now. Has anyone ever panic-attacked themselves to death?

He tries to call Connor, but it goes straight to voicemail, and the thought of texting, of pulling him from studying and friends just because Evan is weak and needy makes his heart beat even faster and his eyes water, so he can’t do that.

He can’t do anything.

\---

“One through ten, how are you doing?” Daniel asks, his standard greeting as he meets Connor outside the library. Connor thought at first that maybe it would start to get annoying, but it hasn’t yet. It’s reassuring, to know that somebody knows and cares how he is.

“Like 7, dude. Finished my Freshman Writing and World Lit final essays already. Would be an 8 if I could fucking unsterstand Calculus.”

“You could ask Kat for help. They’re a Math major, and really good at explaining things. Saved my ass in Stats.”

“Good idea, I’ll text them later. For now, I’ve got about a hundred US History flashcards.”

Daniel exaggeratedly cringes. “God, you’re really on that gen-ed grind.”

It’s true. Connor hadn’t “applied himself” in high school, meaning he never bothered with AP classes, and now it’s coming back to haunt him in the form of 100-level classes and lecture halls overcrowded with confused freshmen, but he doesn’t really mind. “I mean, what else would I be taking? It’s not like I have a major in mind, yet. Might as well let the university make the decisions for me for a while, right?”

“You don’t even have an idea of what you want to do?”

Connor shrugs. “I mean, I like reading, and I like drawing. Not exactly profitable interests.”

“Speaking of unprofitable interests, here comes Violet. Hey Violet,” Daniel calls, “Tell our little freshman here all about how it’s worth it to follow your passion even if it’ll be harder to find a job after graduation.”

Violet laughs. “Don’t do it,” she says when she gets to them. “Sell out to something soul draining and money making like Computer Science or pre-Law. I’ve been applying to jobs for after graduation for months, and still nothing. Turns out, I can be a teacher, or I can get my PhD and be a professor.”

“But you’ve done something you love along the way,” Daniel completes, grinning.

“Yeah, to be fair, I definitely would’ve dropped out by now if I was studying anything else. So, you know, it’s a trade-off.”

They find a table together in the back of the library, and go about their separate studying together.

It’s so much easier to study like this, though Connor assumed at first it would be distracting. It’s like having other people focused around him reminds his brain he’s in school mode, so he can pay attention to his flashcards instead of doodling in their corners or checking his phone.

It’s silent, face down on the table where it can’t distract him, and he barely feels the urge to reach for it.

He’s going to ace this exam.

\---

  
“I’mgoingtofailmyexams,” Evan says before Connor’s even fully in the room. Evan’s on the floor leaning against his bed and shaking, which is always a bad sign. When he’s afraid, it’s like gravity has a stronger hold on him.

Connor settles next to him.

  
“Probably,” he agrees. Evan is a month behind in every class, and there are two days for him to catch up. Even a super mentally healthy person probably couldn’t manage that, and Evan is not a super mentally healthy person. “But the Deans would probably let you take incompletes and make up the work over break.”

Evan looks at him, eyes wide and searching.

“Really?” he gasps. “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah, Hannah was telling me about it over coffee this morning. They can make a lot of accommodations for special circumstances, and you’ve definitely had special circumstances this semester.

Evan wraps his arms around his knees.

“Have I, though? Like-like sure, you could just explain away that I’m such a- such a mess because of my dad and everything, but like, that’s not - it’s not really that, right? My dad was super fucking alive when I jumped out of a tree.”

Evan’s voice gets louder and faster as he goes on, like what he’s saying is a runaway train and he’s just along for the ride. When he gets to the end, he sucks in a sharp breath, his whole body freezing, like even he didn’t know what he was about to say.

He starts hyperventilating, gasping out between breaths, “I-I jumped out of a tree, Connor. Or - like - let go. I tried to kill myself because he was having a baby. It’s not - it’s not the circumstances. It’s me.”

Connor combs one hand through the hair at the nape of Evan’s neck that’s starting to get long, and he twists the other with Evan’s on his knee.

There’s nothing good to say here.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, guiltily, Connor wonders whether Evan might be right. Sure, this semester, he’s been dealing with a lot on top of the already unruly heap of mental illness he was dealing with before, but even before that, it seemed like maybe, Evan just hadn’t been ready.

Like what would’ve happened to him if Connor hadn’t been his roommate, if he’d ended up with someone who wouldn’t teach him how to get food or get it for him when he was overwhelmed, who wouldn’t get on the floor with him and talk him down from his panic attacks?

It’s been over a year, and Evan only just admitted that he had attempted suicide, and it kind of feels like that’s something he should’ve dealt with before adding on all the additional stressors of college life.

“It’s okay,” Connor murmurs, knowing how insufficient that sounds. “You’re here, and you’re safe, and you’re alive.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Evan whispers. “I wish I had died when I let go of that branch.”

“You-Evan…” Connor trails off. What can he say?  _ It sucks right now, but it gets better _ . Or maybe,  _ There’s so much to live for. _

That’s all bullshit when you’re depressed. You don’t care that someday, in the abstract future, you’ll feel better. You know that. You just want to stop hurting now.

“I could do it,” Evan adds. “I know- I know how. It’s funny because, like, because the doctors never thought I was a suicide risk, so my anxiety medicine - it’s - it could maybe do it.”

His breathing has evened, and his voice is calm, not in the detached way that it gets when he’s dissociating. It’s steady.

“But maybe not. Failed once already, so take my suicide plan with a grain of salt, right?”

This is too much. Connor is just a kid, really. He’s only just figured out how to live, how to want to live. He’s not the person to talk someone off the metaphorical ledge.

His heart is racing in his chest, threatening to burst, but he has to know.

“Would you try? Will you try?”

Evan shrugs, all nonchalance. His face is almost apologetic. “Maybe?”

What does he do with that?

He knows what’s been done to him when it got this bad, when death wasn’t a distant wish, but an escape hatch ready to be triggered at will.

He knows screaming at his therapist and parents that they couldn’t do this to him as he was dragged to the locked ward of the nearest mental hospital.

He knows realizing that agreeing to be admitted meant he’d be sent to the open ward, which was infinitely nicer.

He knows feeling trapped and alone and so fucking bored, the therapy groups useless, reviewing the same coping skills he could list in his sleep, the medication ineffective, the TV channels dull. 

He remembers it like a recurring nightmare, but also, he thinks now, what was the alternative? How many of those times would’ve become another attempt on his life if he hadn’t been taken away from all his suicide plans and whims? And what were the chances that would’ve been the one that stuck?

It turns out he knows exactly what he has to do with this situation.

And he can’t do it alone.

Slowly, carefully, he says, “I think, maybe, what we need is to take a breather. Watch  _ How I Met Your Mother _ . I’ll get you some water."

“Yeah, maybe,” Evan agrees, pulling up Netflix on his laptop while Connor fills a glass in the sink.

Once they settle in, Connor sends off a text to Daniel.

**From Connor Murphy** : Peter lives in one of the dorms, right? He’s available after hours?

**From Daniel Miller** : Yeah, he lives in Brown. What’s up?

**From Connor Murphy** : Evan’s really bad. I need an adult. Do you think you could get Peter and bring him here? I’m afraid to leave Evan alone.

**From Daniel Miller** : Of course. It’s going to be okay.

**From Connor Murphy** : Can you text when you get here instead of knocking? I don’t want Evan to feel ambushed.

Daniel sends a thumbs up, and it’s about fifteen minutes before Connor gets the message that they’re in his building.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom. Will you be alright?”

Evan nods, eyes glued to the screen like it’s the only thing that can save him.

Connor slips into the hallway and closes the door behind him. He leads Peter and Daniel down the hallway, so they’re out of earshot of the room but still have a line of sight.

“Evan needs to be hospitalized,” Connor whispers. He doesn’t have the time or energy for pleasantries or greetings or catching anyone up to speed on the situation. “And I don’t know how to make that happen, or-or how to tell him. But he needs to.”

“I’ve heard a little about everything going on with you and Evan, and I’ve thought about reaching out,” Peter says. His voice is so gentle, his eyes so understanding. He’s impossible not to trust. “I didn’t want to intrude, but I see now that I should’ve made more of an effort. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Connor shrugs. “It’s fine.”

He thinks,  _ hey, that’s pretty much par for the course for adults.  _ He thinks,  _ we would’ve brushed you off anyway.  _ He thinks,  _ what difference would it have really made? _   
  


Peter just nods, like he can feel the weight of those two words. 

“So what changed today?” he asks. “From what I’ve heard, Evan’s been struggling for a while. What happened that made you reach out today?”

“He has a plan to kill himself.” Connor wishes there were euphemisms, metaphors, anything he could use to protect from the sting of directness, but he needs to be clear so Peter knows how bad it is, so he can help. “Not, like, in a ‘ _ I’ll do it this way at this time’  _ type of plan. More like, the type of thing you keep in the back of your pocket for a bad day. A way out, just in case.”

“And you think he’d follow through?”

Connor nods. “He’s tried before.”

“It sounds like you’re right about hospitalization,” Peter says. “I think the next step is for me to talk to Evan myself to get a sense of how he thinks he’s doing and how he feels about hospitalization. If he’s willing to be admitted, I can call the hospital about getting him a bed, and if he’s not, we can discuss whether it’s worth getting campus police involved to hold him involuntarily.”

Connor feels a little shaky, but Daniel grips his shoulder, and he makes himself take a breath.

Peter adds, “That was a lot of information. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just - you know exactly what to do.”

“It’s my job to know how to help students. Are you ready?”

Connor nods. “Let me just - I’ll go tell Evan you’re here.”

“And I’ll hang in the vicinity in case you need me to drive,” Daniel adds.

Connor enters his room slowly and sits down beside Evan who’s still watching  _ How I Met Your Mother _ . The episode is about to end.

“Hey, can you pause?”

Evan presses the spacebar and turns to face Connor.

“Why?” Then seeming to see something in Connor’s expression adds, “What’s going on?”

“What you said- what you said earlier about wanting to die. About  _ planning  _ it. It scared me. I called Peter, from the Center for Diversity. He’s here, and I think you should talk to him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so. I’m going to get him. From the hallway,” Connor says.

Peter joins Evan and Connor on the floor, and Connor didn’t expect Evan to answer his questions honestly, expected him to minimize at least, but Peter’s so good at pushing just enough, his eyes always full of sympathy and understanding, but lacking pity or condescension, and Evan tells him everything, about the tree and breaking his arm and his dad and the pills in his top drawer.

His knees are pressed to his chest, and he has Connor’s hand in a vise grip, and he’s tripping and stumbling over his words, but Evan is telling the truth.

It feels monumental.

Finally, Peter says, “Evan, I’m concerned about your safety.”

Evan nods, a few tears slipping out as he says, “Yeah, that’s-that’s fair.”

“So how would you feel about going somewhere that can keep you safe while you work on feeling better?”

“Like-like-like a mental hospital?"

“Exactly. I know one nearby, and I can come with you to help with intake and make sure you have all the things you need.”

“I-I-I. I don’t-I don’t really like new places,” Evan says, his chest rising and falling more rapidly. “Or-or-or being around a lot of people. And my mom-she doesn’t-we don’t have a lot of money. And I know hospitals are-they’re expensive.”

“That’s okay. The school can give you a grant to cover what insurance doesn’t,” Peter says. “And I know hospitals can be scary, but there’s a whole staff of people there to help you adjust and feel comfortable.”

“You know I’ve been in a few before. They’re really more boring than scary once you get used to them,” Connor adds.

“So you- you think I should?” Evan asks him.

Connor nods. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been way too long! I got caught up enjoying doing nothing on my winter break then caught up with all my school work when winter break ended, but every comment made me open google docs and keep going, so keep giving kudos and comments!
> 
> I know this one got really intense. This was fully not where I intended the chapter to go, but as I was writing, I started to feel like I owed it to the characters and the readers to tell the story honestly, and this is where the situation naturally led. I think it's a tough job, that I'm certainly not doing 100% at, to tell a story about two people struggling with really intense mental illness in a sensitive way. The reality is that sometimes people who are hurting can't help each other like they want to, and sometimes they end up hurting each other, and it would do all the real people dealing with this a disservice to make it the contrived "When Evan is doing badly, Connor is fine, so he helps, and when Connor's doing badly, Evan is fine, so he helps" hurt/comfort dynamic. Two people being each other's only support isn't sustainable for the healthiest of people, and giving Connor and Evan additional supports was my biggest goal this chapter.
> 
> Especially in the early phases of the fic, I wanted to explore a dynamic that I don't think I see too much in this fandom which is that Connor is getting better while Evan is getting worse. This setting I created fit it so naturally, in that Evan's story in DEH is, at its core, realizing that he's not okay, so he can, after the end of the musical, work on being okay. (In the novelization, they specifically mention that one of the reasons he didn't go right to college was that everything in the musical made him realize he wasn't ready). Without the events of DEH, Evan's still stuck a year later, and I think that's a really interesting concept to play with. Especially when Connor's spent that year he didn't get to have in the musical going the other direction - being loved and supported, starting to get better. Like, how does being with Evan impact Connor's recovery? How does it help and how does it hurt?
> 
> But Evan's not going to get worse forever. I figured it was clear already, but if it wasn't, (spoilers) this is a recovery story, or I guess a "learning to manage and accept mental illness" story since recovery isn't quite the right word. After a difficult chapter like this, have hope that for these characters, and for anyone struggling like they are, there are good things ahead.


End file.
